


You're Mine (And We Belong Together)

by MagickGarlick



Category: Harry Potter - J. K. Rowling
Genre: Harry Potter Raises Tom Riddle, I will add warnings as I go, I'll tag as I go, M/M, Master of Death Harry Potter, No Archive Warnings Apply......YET, Period Typical Attitudes, Possessive Behavior, Possessive Tom Riddle, Quidditch, Snakes, Time Travel, Time Travel Fix-It, Young Tom Riddle
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2020-10-02
Updated: 2021-01-02
Packaged: 2021-03-08 02:00:37
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 23
Words: 32,386
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/26767660
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/MagickGarlick/pseuds/MagickGarlick
Summary: Life is normal.Harry's an Auror, Ginny is expecting, and he is excellent at compartmentalising his decades of trauma.An accident involving an old diary and a suspicious magical watch results in him hurtling into 1934.Realising that he can't get back to his present, he decides to change everything.He tells himself that this world will never know the name 'Voldemort'.IMPORTANT INFORMATIONI have left this unfinished, but am going to try and write it again, and post that as a new fic, because I am unsatisfied with the quality of this work as it currently stands.
Relationships: Harry Potter & Tom Riddle | Voldemort, Harry Potter/Tom Riddle, Harry Potter/Tom Riddle | Voldemort, Harry Potter/Voldemort
Comments: 432
Kudos: 1728
Collections: Harry Potter, Time Travel and World Travel, Top-tier HP/TMR Fics





	1. Out Of Time (1)

_He had forgotten about the diary._

Headmistress McGonagall hadn't even known what it was, when she discovered a drawer with a false bottom in her office. Dumbledore had just hidden it away.

But she saw the name on it, and felt dark energy leaking off of it. 

She called Harry, because _of course_ she did.

He held it gingerly, turning it over in his hands, marvelling at all the wretched memories.

‘Is it dangerous?’ Minerva asked lowly. 

‘Not anymore.’ Harry replied dully, tracing the hole where he had stabbed it. ‘I’ll still take it to the Department of Magical Artefacts, though. Can’t believe I forgot about it.’

‘You did have a lot on your plate at the time.’ Minerva replied reasonably. Harry barked a short quick laugh.

‘I ‘spose that’s true.’

Harry respectfully nodded at Dumbledore’s portrait before tumbling back through the floo. He stumbled out, somehow having managed to inhale a large amount of ash, which he promptly spat out, right onto the floor. 

‘Scourgify.’ he mumbled, not wanting to inconvenience the elves. 

People respectfully nodded at him as he strode through, clad in his auror garb (and soot). They probably thought he’d come back from some kind of fiery battle, which to be fair, wasn’t uncommon for him. 

He threw the diary onto his desk and groaned, rubbing his eyes. 

He’d only run to Hogwarts because the diary _scared_ him, even though that fear was completely unfounded. It was as dead and empty as the man who made it. 

Harry felt dirty, looking at the diary. Sometimes he felt like Voldemort had tainted his soul. He would look at Ginny’s flushed rosy cheeks and think about when they were pale and dead. He would look at her swollen belly and wonder if the child inside was corrupted by Harry. 

Once he dreamt that she gave birth, but what came out was a pale snake child, a wraith. Harry had woken up shaking in a cold sweat. 

The diary had fallen onto the desk at an angle, and flipped open. 

_There was writing inside of it._

Harry creased his eyebrows, wondering when someone wrote in it, and why? The diary was supposed to be blank. He picked it up, getting a shiver from just touching the leathery surface. It twisted his gut to remember that year, and everything after. The hole in the middle obliterated a few words, but was relatively unobtrusive. 

_That handwriting._

Voldemort _had_ used it as a diary. When he made it into a horcrux, the writing must have been hidden, but there were no charms on it now, the fang tore apart every trace of magic within the thing, even spells which would have presumably been originally laid on it for the sake of privacy. Harry was aghast, the real thoughts of a teenage Voldemort were written in this. God, imagine if the reporters got their grubby little fingers on this, there would be no end to it. A dark lord, reduced to gossip. Harry wondered bemusedly if the diary detailed any crushes.

_Perish the thought._

He would just read a page or two, then he really had to finish his paperwork as soon as possible. It didn’t begin with a ‘Dear Diary’, just a neatly penned date.

_August 26th, 1938_

_This is my first entry into my diary. I am using it to organise my thoughts and plans._

_I am going to attend a school for people like me. Special people, who can do impossible things. I have met a man that is from this school, and think that even though they_ ~~_are the same_ ~~ _have the same abilities as me, I am still different in other ways._

 _I am different from everyone, there is_ _no one_ _like me._

~~_Sometimes I feel alone but_ ~~

_-T.M Riddle_

The handwriting wasn't as perfect as what Harry had glimpsed later in the diary, but impressive for an 11 year old nonetheless. Certainly better than Harry's chickenscratch. And it was very well written too. Harry thought of what his essays had been like at this age and grimaced. But that was Tom Riddle wasn't it? Perfect, Prefect, genius, head boy. Who was secretly a psychopath. Harry kept reading. 

It was interesting, and though it tore into him, he couldn't stop. It hurt to read this, this thing that humanised Voldemort. The dead skin of the shadow-boy that almost killed Ginny.

It detailed Tom’s life, not day by day, but whenever he felt the need to write in it. Harry could sense that not everything was being said, that even this place which was supposed to be of utmost privacy wasn't considered safe for the depths of Tom Riddle’s psyche. The most revealing words were those that had been angrily crossed out, near or to the point of illegibility. They were the only places where this cold boy showed emotion, generally rage, sometimes sadness. Happiness was rare in this book, and where it was present, it was only half real, some kind of malicious glee at another's suffering, at the stupidity of his peers. 

Harry kept on reading, and finally he came to it.

_July 8th, 1943_

_Slytherin’s beast has grown to trust me, I am the last of her masters' kin, after all._

_The Knights were in awe when I led them down to the chamber, showed her sleeping form. Who can dare to oppose me when I control such a power? I will use her soon. A death by basilisk is potent, potent enough for this._

_It is coming close to the time now. Isn't it simply delightful that the best time to split a soul in half, is when the moon shows half of her face? The logic of magic continues to astound me._

_I am going to be immortal, soon. This will likely be the last time I write in this diary, which will cease to be a vessel for my musings, and instead hold something far greater._

_-Voldemort_

That had been the last entry of course, and Harry closed the book, heart in his throat. 

_He had already been so far gone, even then._

He could almost see Riddle, sneering, standing over him as he bled, venom moving through him. Harry’s mind was ablaze, and he flinched slightly at a headache, fearing a pain in a scar he hadn't felt in years.

This thing should be burned. Voldemort feared death the most, and Harry wouldn't let his memory live on through a personal narrative. No one needed to know the life and times of Tom Marvolo Riddle. Harry knew that this diary would elicit sympathy, for the cold broken boy that never knew love. Harry pitied Tom Riddle, had for years, but the world didn’t need to. They had a story, and he would not taint it with nuance. 

Harry made his way to The Office for The Disposal of Dark Artefacts. He knew that it was just a mound of parchment at this point, nothing remotely magical about it, but it would still ease him to thrust it into those bright pink flames rather than mundane ones. 

_It’s important to have closure._

Hermione's voice echoed in his head, from times where he didn't want to leave his house, didn't want to do anything when the war had ended. 

‘And what are you disposing of today, Auror Potter?’ asked the woman at the desk. Harry had experienced enough fanaticism to know when someone was excited to speak with him, and her tone bordered on a squeal.

‘A book.’ he answered shortly.

‘A cursed book?’ she inquired.

‘Yeah, it slices off your toes if you write in it.’ Harry lied glibly.

She sighed pitchily,

‘Truly awful, what those dark wizards think up, isn’t it?’

‘I’d say.’ he muttered darkly.

She wrote down the report, and sent it through a chute. 

‘You’re good to go, Auror Potter.’

‘Call me Harry.’ 

She seemed stunned.

‘Just… Harry?’

He laughed a little, at a joke no one else would get.

‘Yeah,’ he said. ‘Just Harry.’

Then loud, running footsteps struck behind him. He turned to see Ron, looking completely dishevelled and bewildered. 

‘Oh, Harry! That’s good then, can you chuck this one in for me? I only have ten minutes to file that paperwork you know the one-’ and a metal object is pressed into Harry’s other hand before Ron is off again. 

_Thank you, Ron, for putting a presumably dark object into my hand for me._

He had her file that one too, under ‘unknown’, because Ron had not deigned to tell them the properties of the object, which was a rather nice looking wristwatch, and it didn't really matter that much anyway. Probably.

  
  


The disposal room smelled like smoky incense, due to the pink fire that took up the centre of it. Harry wasn't exactly sure about the particulars of how it worked, but it was pretty good at destroying dark objects, (excluding, of course, horcruxes) and that was good enough for him. Harry gripped the diary in his hand.

It was going to feel _good_ to burn this. 

It felt underwhelming when he threw the diary in lightly, followed by the watch. Harry was ready to go when the flames flared up a dark purple.

That had never happened before.

Harry began to reconsider the idea of recklessly handling anything even remotely associated with Voldemort.

He didn’t come here that often, it could be normal. 

Harry decided it most likely wasn’t normal precisely the moment that the flames expanded to consume the entire room. 

Everything turned purple, and he was gone.


	2. Out Of Time (2)

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> fuck it ima post a couple buffer chapters

Harry was quite surprised, when he awoke, to find himself not dead. He could be certain of that, because he was one of the very few people in the world who were familiar with the sensation. 

Instead, he was on the pavement, as a cacophony of people and vehicles moved around him.

_Maybe the wristwatch was some kind of strange portkey? One that was apparently activated by being thrown into the disposal fire._

Ah well, he was alive, he was safe, and what must have been a sudden materialisation into what, from the voices, sounded like London was ignored by the hordes around him. Amazing what muggles can trick themselves into not seeing. 

He sat up, and surveyed his surroundings.

Harry hadn’t been into the muggle world for a few years, but he was rather certain the fashions wouldn’t have changed this much.

The people all looked… rather _vintage._

He stood shakily, eyes roving over the people- all clad in wool jackets, or something similar. Not unusual in London, but it was certainly noticeable that all the shirts had collars. And not a sports shoe or female pant wearer in sight.

_Maybe it was some kind of festival._

He couldn't help but think about the wristwatch. He had had enough experiences with magical artefacts that resembled time-pieces.

The cars on the road looked like the ones in old pictures, strange shapes, many without roofs. Harry stared at them, gobsmacked. One car zoomed by, seemingly unconcerned about any speed limit or potential of taking out the numerous pedestrians. It barely swerved out of the way of one rather startled woman. 

‘Those damn things,’ an old man said, looking at him. ‘reckless motorists will be the death of us all.’

‘Erm… yeah.’ Harry murmured, trying to gather his bearings.

‘You lost, lad?’ He asked concernedly. Harry looked up, and his heart leapt into his throat. The man didn't resemble him, but his expression reminded Harry of Dumbledore.

‘A little bit.’ Harry croaked. ‘This is an odd question, but, could you tell me the date?’

The man looked lightly disapproving. Probably thought he had gone on some sort of drunken rager.

‘It’s the 1st of December.’ he answered.

Harry breathed.

‘And… what year is it?’ he asked, breath bated. 

The man paused.

‘What?’ He laughed, ‘it’s 1934 of course.’ He became concerned again, ‘are you alright, young man?’

Harry breathed deeply. 

_Typical._

Trust Harry Potter, trust _him_ to set off some kind of mega-powerful-dark-time-turner and go seventy years into the past. 

‘Bloody hell.’ 

Ginny was _pregnant._

_‘Bloody hell.’_

  
  


Harry had to get out of here, out of this time. He had to get back to Ginny, to raise their child.

Dumbledore. He had to find Dumbledore.

Harry’s heart ached at the prospect of seeing him again, the whole, real thing, not in paint or on a chocolate frog card or in his dreams. But this Dumbledore wasn't the whole thing, was he? It would many decades before he became who Harry knew. 

While running, he apparated into Diagon Alley. The Post Office. 

‘Go to Dumbledore.’ he whispered harshly, handing the owl a scrawled note and a sickle. 

_Very important matter- I can’t explain here, but I need your help._

_Meet me in The Leaky Cauldron._

_-A Friend_

Harry went to the bar, sat down, and waited. He wondered if Dumbledore would even come on such a suspicious note.

But a couple hours after he had sent the owl, he came.

Harry’s heart ached, seeing the man with such a young face. 

He walked up to him, and hugged him. 

‘Oh.’ the man said with surprise. 

Harry quickly let him go.

‘Profes-I’m so sorry- I.’ a deep breath. ‘I know you, but you don’t know me.’

Dumbledore’s eyes glittered with humour.

‘An odd situation, if I’ve ever seen one.’ Harry was a trained Auror, he could read people. Dumbedore was on guard. Of course he was. It was a suspicious note, Grindelwald’s forces were probably after him at this time, and Harry was potentially a spy for them. A very affectionate spy.

‘Muffliato.’ Harry whispered. He’d used this spell so often that he didn’t need his wand. Dumbledore waited expectantly. 

‘Time travel.’ Harry blurted, ‘I’m from the year 2003. I don’t know how to get back.’ 

Dumbledore eyed him for a moment, looking for something. He visibly relaxed. 

‘A strange situation, but not unheard of.’ he remarked.

‘Can you help me get back?’ Harry asked. 

Dumbedore was quiet for a moment.

‘Young man. I am honoured that you decided to come to me for help, but I am afraid that as far as I know, while there are some records of time travellers who came back in time, I have never heard of one who went forward.’

‘But that can’t mean it's impossible, can it?’ Harry’s voice became high and desperate. ‘I have to get back- I have to!’ Dumbledore laid a comforting hand on his shoulder. 

‘It is…’ he sighed, ‘difficult… to have to leave behind connections. To lose people whom you love.’

Harry gazed at Dumbledore and thought of Ariana, of Abermoth, of Grindelwald.

‘My wife is pregnant.’ Harry said, stunned. And he was struck dumb at the thought. 

He had abandoned his child. There was a great well of guilt. 

He had abandoned his child. He would grow up without a father. Like Harry. Like Neville.

Like Tom Riddle.

Dumbledore’s eyes were sad.

‘I am so sorry.’

His auburn hair and unwrinkled face reminded Harry of everything he had lost. 

_You SHOULD be sorry. You died._

_YOU LEFT ME WHEN I NEEDED YOU MOST._

Harry took a deep breath. His anger did not control him, that's what Hermione had said. 

Oh how he missed her already. Her _and_ Ron, even though he could be an overdramatic dolt sometimes.

‘Well then.’ Harry said hollowly, wanting Dumbledore out of his sight. ‘I’m going to engage in some day-drinking. Sorry to take up your time, Professor.’

Harry did what any sane man would do in this situation, promptly ordered a bottle of firewhiskey. 

‘Rough day, eh?’ asked the barkeep. It took him a moment to realise it was Tom, several decades younger.

‘It’s been an interesting one.’ Harry replied lowly.

‘I haven’t seen you around here before- are you a new recruit?’ 

Harry belatedly realised he was still wearing his distinctive red auror overcoat. 

‘No,’ he replied blithely, ‘I just happen to have this coat which unfortunately looks a lot like the ones Aurors wear.’ 

_Good one Harry._

‘The cut does seem slightly different, on closer inspection.’

It wasn't surprising the uniform had changed over the decades _._

Harry wished he knew a spell for changing the colour of a coat, but he had never bothered to learn something so specific.

The firewhisky burned on the way down, and Harry revelled in it.

It was 1934, Voldemort would be what? seven? eight?

_I could kill him, now. It wouldn't be hard. Would save the world a lot of trouble._

Another gulp.

_Voldemort or not, I’ve never hurt a child._

‘Whoa, slow down there chap.’

Harry put the bottle down.

_Sometimes bad things have to be done to prevent worse things._

He breathed.

_Are you going to let the world burn because you can’t stand to live with guilt?_

And he already felt guilty, he always felt so guilty. 

He had abandoned all of them.

Harry picked up the bottle again. The whiskey was working fast. In some part of his mind, he knew that he wasn’t in the best headspace to be making timeline-altering decisions.

The barkeep turned away for a moment, and found the strange man had disappeared with a crack, a whole galleon left on the counter.

Tom inspected it.

‘Thanks for the tip.’ he said to no one.


	3. Out Of Time (3)

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> letSS GOOOO

The wind was blustery at Wool's Orphanage.

Children were in the yard, screaming and carrying on. Harry searched for him, but of course he wasn't there. Probably torturing animals somewhere. Or other kids.

Harry dearly missed his invisibility cloak, which unfortunately was stuffed in his bedside drawer, in 2003. He cast a disillusionment charm on himself, feeling the mildly unpleasant sensation of an egg crack onto his forehead. He would have to step carefully, but no one should notice him.

He slipped inside, walking the halls. It felt as though he had been here before, in that memory, but the physical sensation was different. Despair seemed to leak from the walls, and the cold was biting. He checked inside the rooms, which were for the most part unoccupied. 

_Room 27_ , how could he have forgotten? The door was closed. If he listened closely, he could hear the rustle of pages inside. 

His heart palpitated. Was he really about to kill Voldemort, again?

_A defenceless child._

Harry knew you were supposed to pull out weeds young, before they choked your flowers.

He pulled open the door, strode in, and pointed his wand at-

A startled young boy.

‘Who is it? Where-’

Harry felt his insides collapse.

‘Oh _Circe and Hecate_ . You’re _just a kid._ ’

A loud crack.

Tom jumped back, looking wildly around for the earlier presence, clutching his book to his chest. His heart pumped, and he thought it must have been a ghost.

_Stupid, stupid, stupid._

Harry had faced Voldemort, when the man was more snake and fury than human, he had faced him and offered redemption. This little boy hadn't done any of the things that Harry hated Voldemort for.

_But that's why you wanted to do it, isn't it? So that he never COULD._

_So that maybe a little baby boy could grow up with parents._

_I’ll never have that._

_But he can._

Harry had never felt more sober in his life. 

Thoughts collected wildly in his head- Hermione, and her incessant interest in muggle psychology, going on and on about childhood and neuroses and- well Harry usually tuned her out to avoid confronting his own childhood and neuroses.

He didn’t expect that Riddle would be a saintlike, altruistic champion of muggle rights if he intervened now, but literally any improvement would save thousands of lives. 

And Harry…

Harry often found that when he was doing something good, there was something else selfish underneath. 

Harry had, for all intents and purposes, lost his child. He had been preparing for fatherhood, he wanted to care for and nurture the baby the way children should be nurtured. He wanted to find out if their hair would be red or black.

_‘Red hair is a recessive allele, and black hair is a dominant allele.’ Explained Hermione, ‘So your child will have black hair.’_

_‘Hermione, I have no idea what an allele is, but I bet that Ginny’s are gonna beat mine to a pulp.’_

_‘That’s not how it works!’ Hermione laughed._

Tom wouldn’t be a good substitute for that. In fact, he would be the most awful substitute Harry could find, as he was the child version of the man who was quite literally, the _bane of Harry's existence_ for _seventeen years._

And raising him was exactly what Harry deserved. 

First he had to get money- and a house, and-

He couldn’t access the Potter Vault. 

Harry was going to have to find a job.

His coat was attracting attention, so Harry loitered in a bookshop, reading about colour changing spells, and furtively whispering them. He had wanted a dull brown, but it ended up turning an acidic green. He looked ridiculous, which probably meant he would blend in better with the wizarding population anyway. 

First he searched in Diagon Alley, going around all the shops.

It turns out, to get a job at a robe shop, you need to be able to sew, and to get a job at a potions shop. 

Well, you need to be half decent at potions.

Harry’s skills were fighting for his dear life, and Quidditch. He didn't have any qualifications, and couldn't retrain as an Auror, and there wasn't money in Quidditch until you were in top levels. Harry didn't want to become a famous Quidditch player, and decades later have a little Harry Potter notice that he was beginning to look an awful lot like that seeker from the 1930’s. Oh god, Ron would have been unbearable.

So that was off the table. 

Maybe he could ‘invent’ something which already existed in his time and live off of the royalties. Harry didn’t much know how a Firebolt or a computer were put together.

_Useless. You’re useless._

He had skills, he just didn't have the qualifications to prove he had those skills. He also had about only ten galleons in his money-pouch, which would last him a good while if he was careful, but not indefinitely. He did notice that prices were remarkably lowered in 1934.

It appeared before him then, the poster, plastered onto a dilapidated wall. 

DUELING CHAMPIONSHIPS- OPEN ENTRY

1ST PRIZE 600 GALLEONS

2ND PRIZE 300 GALLEONS

3RD PRIZE 100 GALLEONS

Harry could duel. Harry could definitely duel. He had all the instinct, the reflexes of doing it for his survival, against an array of powerful dark wizards, but now he also had training, he had technique. It wasn’t just dodging and expelliarmuses anymore. (Though he did lean on that as it had been an excellent strategy for him for a long time.) He would aim for second place, half the money, a tenth of the notoriety. Maybe he could find a security job out of it.

300 galleons was enough to live on for a decent while, he just had to work out accommodation. 

Signup was at a place called ‘The English Wizards Dueling Association’, a little further along from Gringotts. Harry was pretty sure this building got turned into a souvenir shop in his time. 

‘I’d like to enter the Dueling Championships.’

The man looked at him, giving him a once over. 

‘Name?’ he asked gruffly.

‘Harry, uh, Evans.’ He said quickly.

The man wrote him down. 

‘Muggleborn, then?’

‘Is that a problem,’ Harry asked icily.

‘Hackles down Hippogriff! Just an observation. Competition is open to all.’

‘There's no fee, or anything?’ Harry asked.

‘No. Anonymous donor provided the prize money.’ He lowered his voice, ‘It’s a strange business, I think. But don’t go telling anyone I said that.’ 

_This sounds like it’s going to go well._

Harry rolled his money pouch in his hand. Ten galleons, that's all he had to his name. eight if you eliminated the two which had been stamped after 1934. 

‘Fuck it.’

Harry settled down in a room at the Leaky Cauldron. It was ten sickles a night, which was reasonable, and gave him enough time to get his bearings. 

Harry lay on the mattress, which was perfectly firm, just how he liked it. 

He had lost everything. He had to make everything for himself again. Something similar to anger was in him, but it welled with no place to direct it. He grit his teeth, willing his tears back into his eyes. Then he realised he didn't have to. There was no one here. 

No one at all.


	4. Adoption (1)

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Thank you to crystallocks122 for betaing this.  
> a note for readers who found this when it was first published, I have revised a couple dates in the previous chapters. I messed up the year, in order for tom to be 7 the year would have to be 1934, not 1933. I also changed the date that harry landed in the past from the 20th of december to the 1st of december, because it didn't fit with the timeline of the later chapters. Fun fact, instead of travelling 70 years into the past he has gone back exactly 69!!! exciting.  
> Thank you for the hits, kudos, bookmarks, and especially the comments. If you leave comments you get my undying love. This is not an exaggeration.

The competition began a few days later, and Harry arrived at the described location at six am sharp. There were some scary looking wizards here. 

He looked at the schedule, which charmingly had ‘Scheduel’ written at the top. His first duel was with one Kanagrus Jink, in precisely twenty minutes. The first match was already starting, and as Harry watched the curses and colours fly at each opponent, he felt assured that at least he was more skilled than these fellows. Still, he didn't know who he would face, and worried he may have bitten off more than he could chew.

Kanagrus Jink turned out to be a reedy teenager whom Harry thought may have entered on a dare, and Harry took mercy on him, winning quickly with an expelliarmus.

His next match was slightly tougher, but no Bellatrix Lestrange. Harry took down his opponents like bowling pins and found himself easily in the finals. He was very tired by this point, but he had been more magically exhausted many times before.

_3:15pm_

_Harry Evans Versus Fillius Flitwick_

He blinked. 

He rubbed his eyes.

He supposed he never had known how old Professor Flitwick was.

It turns out that the Flitwick of this time was an incredibly young, fresh faced boy. Still, after having taken out half the competition, he didn't get snorts of derision. 

‘How old is he? Fourteen?’ Whispered a man near Harry. Flitwick must have heard too. He puffed himself up. 

‘I am nineteen! Soon to be twenty!’ He squeaked. 

Someone else might have found it hard to take the boy seriously, but Harry had seen the adult Flitwick take out four death eaters single handedly.

They bowed, and then they were off. 

‘Protego!’ Harry immediately shouted, while at the same time sending out a wordless Stupefy, Flitwick dodged the jet of red light, but it was only a distraction from Harry’s Expelliarmus, also wordless, also red, which he sent close to the ground. Flitwick barely managed to jump over it. He looked like a child leaping over a spinning skipping rope, while simultaneously sending out his own attacks.

‘Incarcerous!’ he squeaked, and the thick ropes charged towards Harry.

‘Sectumsempra!’ Harry yelled, slashing the ropes into tiny pieces. There was a murmur in the audience. They hadn’t seen that one before.

They sent spells at each other for a while, both of them quick with their wands and quick on their feet. Still, Harry could tell that he had more stamina than the boy. His attacks were slowing down, and his dodging was becoming sloppy.

Flitwick was unusually good at dueling, but Harry was also unusually good at dueling, and hardened by years of experience. Flitwick raised his wand and grit out,

‘Petrificu-’ 

‘EXPELLIARMUS!’ Harry shouted, while sending out a second disarming charm wordlessly from the other side. Flitwick dodged the first one and fell directly into the second one. His wand flew into Harry’s hand. Flitwick fell onto his knees, panting on the floor.

Harry offered his hand to help him up, smiling.

‘You are an exceptional duelist.’ He said.

Flitwick smiled tightly,

‘But you, Harry Evans, are better.’ He took his hand and pulled himself up. 

‘I do have a few years on you.’ Harry commented. 

‘Not that many. Rematch in five years?’ Flitwick asked.

Harry smiled broadly. 

‘If I can make it. You’re on.’

Then a man in obnoxious pink robes came over to Harry, raised up his arm and announced.

‘The champion duelist is- HARRY EVANS!’

Shit, he should have looked more closely at The Scheduel.

Harry left with his pockets six hundred galleons heavier, and practically ran from the press. 

That hadn’t gone according to plan, but he hadn’t thought it would be that easy to win. Harry supposed he didn’t usually have the luxury of versing people one on one, usually he was fighting at least a few people at once. 

Six hundred galleons was a lot. It was _loads_. And it seemed to be worth more in 1934 than 2003. Inflation wasn't as pronounced as in the muggle world, but it was still present. It felt good to be rich again. A weight lifted off of Harry’s chest that he wasn’t aware was there.

Harry tried to think of where the best place to raise Tom would be. His mind immediately jumped to Molly Weasley, The Burrow, but of course that was impossible. Would Harry be enough, even? Would a woman be better? Did Tom need a mother? 

Anything was better than nothing, there's no way Harry could make Voldemort worse, right?

He had to stop questioning himself. 

He ended up buying a plot of land near where The Burrow would be built in 1956, and hiring witches and wizards to construct a cottage for him. The total cost only came to seventy-five galleons of his six hundred. He spent some more on furnishing the house, getting necessities. It was simple, humble, homely. It certainly _looked_ like a wholesome environment to nurture a child in. Harry also ended up buying one of those tents with more space on the inside, which he lived in while they were making his house. It was also dead useful for transporting large quantities of furniture and other items with relative ease.

Once that was done, Harry had no excuses. It was time to pick up Tom. 

The room that Harry prepared for the boy was decorated in largely red. He didn’t know why, some sort of futile idea that the Gryffindorness of it all would rub off on him, or some sort of pettiness, though the boy wouldn't even associate the colour with that yet. Not that Harry thought he needed to be not-a-Slytherin, though that would certainly be something. Hufflepuff Voldemort. Ridiculous.

Wool’s Orphanage was one tiring apparation away. 

He approached a woman hanging laundry outside.

‘Hello, my name is Harry Evans, I’m looking for a Tom Riddle.’

She finished pegging the shirt she was currently on, and evaluated Harry. Her eyebrows raised judgingly at his near fluorescent green coat which he certainly had the money to replace, but had actually grown quite fond of.

‘You his father?’ 

Harry laughed shortly.

‘No, but I knew his family. I’ve only just… found out about Tom. I tracked him here.’

She chewed on her lip. 

‘Never thought I’d see the day. You’ve any proof of relation then?’ 

Harry did exactly what Dumbledore had in that memory.

‘Here, everything you need to know.’ He said, holding out a blank piece of paper and allowing compulsion to colour his words. Her eyes glazed over and she nodded languidly. 

‘Right this way Mr. Evans, Tom will be so pleased to see you.’ 

Tom was in the yard alone, while the other children played a game with a ball. They stilled when Harry walked over with Mrs. Cole. Weird clothing or not, he was a potential parent. 

One girl came up to him, no older than seven.

‘Hey mister, my name is Sally, will you be my daddy?’ The other orphans scoffed at her display. Harry looked at her threadbare clothing, her skinny face and the sad eyes she was trying to hide. His heart rose to his throat. 

‘I’m afraid I’m here for someone else.’ He whispered gently. Sally was utterly dejected. When Mrs. Cole wasn’t looking, he conjured a shining gold butterfly, and placed it into her palm. She gasped with delight, as it fluttered around, leaving a trail of sparkles behind it. 

‘Mister Green Coat, how did you-’ Harry held a finger up to his lips, and winked. The butterfly floated off into nothing, fizzling away. He turned to approach Tom, but the boy already had his eyes trained on him. He was staring intensely at him, and at Sally. Mrs. Cole grabbed Tom’s shoulder, and Harry could almost taste the disgust that the touch inspired in the boy. 

‘This is Harry Evans. Say hello Tom.’

‘Hello.’ Tom said. 

‘Yeah. Hi.’ Harry replied, ‘So, er, I was thinking I’d adopt you, if that's alright.’ 

_Stop acting so nervous, you need to be a figure of authority for him or he’ll think you’re weak and open to manipulation._

Harry cleared his throat. 

‘Are you my father?’ Tom asked plaintively. Harry choked, 

‘No- god no, not at all. Why do people keep asking that?’ Tom looked almost disappointed, but he hardened his face up again.

‘Did you know my father?’ 

‘No, I knew your mother.’ Harry said, because they couldn't check with Merope whether that was true or not, as she was dead. Tom’s lips curled into an almost imperceptible sneer.

‘Do you know who my father was?’

‘No.’ Harry lied.

The boy seemed entirely unsatisfied with this. 

‘You’re lying. I know when people are lying, I always know.’

‘Do you still want to adopt him?’ Mrs. Cole asked nervously. 

‘Of course,’ Harry replied. The moment he looked at Tom, he felt like he was coming home, and he knew this was the right thing to do.


	5. Adoption (2)

Apparently adoption wasn’t that arduous of a process, especially when you were a wizard who could manipulate people's perceptions of you and your legal documentation. Harry, a literal stranger, became Tom’s legal guardian within the hour. Harry wasn’t sure how ethical this was, but it was better than kidnapping, right?

They went to Tom’s room to pick up a few things. Tom began to conscientiously place each of his belongings into a bag.

‘Those aren’t yours.’ Harry said, looking at Tom’s little trophies. Tom stilled.

‘How do you know?’ Tom asked flatly.

‘Because I just know these things.’ Harry replied vaguely. 

‘I saw you with the butterfly. You’re like me, aren't you? You’re special.’

Harry breathed deeply.

‘We’re wizards.’ 

Tom’s eyes filled with glee.

‘I knew it! I knew I was special, that there was something about me-’

‘Well we aren't that special, really. Britain has a pretty large wizarding population, and considering that we are going to live among wizarding society, you might want to get used to being normal.’ Harry said firmly, trying to quash Tom’s egocentric ideas. The contrast between how he handled his magic as a child and Tom’s method was astounding. Harry was in deep denial about being different as a child, as he was taught that abnormal was the worst thing to be. Tom embraced it, revelled it it, and wielded it cruelly. He supposed different circumstances required different survival skills.

‘Normal…’ Tom pondered. ‘Can all wizards talk to snakes?’ 

Morgana, it was too early for this. 

‘No.’ Harry said reluctantly, ‘that’s a rather rare ability.’

‘So then I can do things others can’t, even in the wizarding world.’ Tom said, and he sounded more relieved than anything else. 

‘I suppose so. Nonetheless, I do not tolerate stealing, and I would like for you to return those items to those you stole them from.’

Tom’s eyes flashed with anger, but he schooled his expression and said,

‘Yes, Mr. Evans.’ 

‘Just Harry.’

Harry didn't know where he took the objects, but probably not to each of the owners with a personal apology on his lips. Maybe he dumped them somewhere. 

They packed up what few belongings Tom had, and Harry apparated them to his cottage. It was quaint, white plaster with vines crawling over it as though it were years rather than days old. 

He studied the boy for his reaction. It was hardly a wizard’s manor, and Harry knew that Tom may have expected more for himself.

Harry could see Tom struggling to not be overwhelmed by sudden apparition. Harry should have warned him, he knew side-along apparition wasn’t a pleasant sensation at all, and it had been wholly unexpected for the boy. There was some kind of pettiness, he just felt uncomfortable with the idea of treating this mini-Voldemort with love and affection.

_ That's what you have to do to prevent mini-Voldemort from becoming big-Voldemort. _

Tom promptly schooled his expression into one of neutrality.

‘I know it isn’t much, but it's our home. I hope you like it.’ Harry prodded. Tom didn't seem to be disappointed with the cottage. He was still.

‘It’s... nice.’ Tom whispered. 

Harry felt a sudden stab of familiarity, remembering when he first visited The Burrow.

_ ‘It’s not much,’ said Ron. _

_ ‘It’s wonderful,’ said Harry happily. _

Tom was a lot like Harry was as a child. Isolated from his peers, no connection with adults. Living with little food, few possessions, though for different reasons. For Harry, this had all turned around when he went to Hogwarts, he gained friends, people liked him, he found guiding adult forces. The Tom Riddle Harry had known was a half-blood in Slytherin in the thirties. How would that have shaped Harry?

Something inside Harry shifted, he looked at Tom, and finally, he really, truly just saw a boy. 

He wasn’t Voldemort, and he never would be. That name would  _ never  _ even be thought of.

He smiled gently.

‘Lets go inside.’

Inside, Harry had left on the fire. The whole house was rich with warmth. Harry had noticed how cold that stone building was. How the children were just a bit thin and shivery. Tom was tall for his age, he needed more food. 

‘I’ll show you to your room,’ he said, guiding Tom along. He opened the rustic wooden door.

‘It’s… red.’ Tom commented.

Harry shrugged. 

‘Do you like it?’ The boy wandered in, eyed the four poster bed, the tall wooden wardrobe, the empty bookshelf and the soft armchair.

‘It’ll do.’

Harry sniggered, 

‘Glad it meets your expectations, my liege.’

Tom was not at an age where he understood the nuances of sarcasm and humour, but he knew when he was being made fun of. He scowled. Harry broke the tension.

‘I’ll put dinner on.’ 

While he had never reached the degree of magical kitchen expertise demonstrated by Molly, Ginny had turned out to be an abominable cook, and so Harry was rather practiced. 

‘Accio pot,’ the cupboards rattled and a big black pot flew out, a quick aguamenti filled it with water. Harry cast his eyes over to Tom, who was eyeing the pot with great suspicion. ‘Could you please chop the carrots?’ Harry asked. He was good at using magic to chop vegetables, or stir a pot, it was doing many things at once which tripped him up, so he preferred to do most things manually. It would be good for Tom to help. Constructive.

_ Was it okay to give a knife to a seven year old?  _

Harry wasn’t quite sure, but he’d chopped vegetables from a very young age with minimal injury, so he decided it was fine. 

Tom did it without fuss, and with a practiced hand. Seems he had done this sort of work at the orphanage. 

They cooked in silence for a while.

They had a hearty beef stew, rich with warm spices. Tom ate slowly, deliberately. Harry shoveled food into his mouth like he always did. The child viewed him with mild distaste. 

‘Missus Cole always told us to savour our food.’

Harry swallowed a spoonful, 

‘She was right, you should listen to her advice.’ 

‘You should eat more slowly.’ Tom stated. 

‘I’m used to not having a lot of time to eat. I suppose I have plenty of time now.’ Harry slowed his slurping, and thoughtfully chewed each piece of beef and carrot. The stew really was rather nice.

‘Can you teach me magic?’ The boy asked. It was clear he had been waiting to say it, quietly hopeful.

Harry’s spoon stopped halfway to his mouth. He placed it gently back in the bowl.

‘I don’t think you’re supposed to be taught magic until you go to Hogwarts- that's the, uh, magical school you’ll go to when you’re eleven.’

‘Why not?’

‘You’d have an unfair advantage.’

‘Not if all the parents taught their children. Don’t they?’

Muggleborns certainly didn’t learn magic, nor boys in cupboards. But what about those with magical guardians? Harry seemed to remember some purebloods mentioning the tutors they had had before Hogwarts.

‘I’ll start teaching you after you turn eight. It’s your birthday soon anyway.’ Harry decided. There really was no reason to deprive Tom of some basic magic lessons, Lumos, Aguamenti, the works.

Tom seemed satisfied with that. Then another question, always another question. This one had also been brewing, Harry suspected.

‘Why did you adopt me?’ 

Harry paused.

‘Because you’re a magical child. You shouldn’t grow up… not knowing, about all of it.’

‘Did you really know my mother?’ He asked. He seemed suspicious.

Harry sighed.

‘I more knew of her, than knew her. She was a witch.’

‘And my father was a wizard?’

‘Unlikely, with a name like that. Riddle is a muggle name.’ 

‘Muggle.’ Tom tasted the word on his tongue. It appeared to be unsavoury.

‘Muggles are non-magical people. Sometimes witches or wizards have children with muggles, and usually the resulting child is magical. We call these children half-bloods. If I had to guess, I would say you are a half-blood.’ 

‘Why would you want to have children with a muggle when you could have children with someone who was like you?’ Tom asked.

Harry allowed a sad smile to break across his face.

‘I suppose that’s love.’


	6. Diagon Alley (1)

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I uh, changed my username btw. The caps and such were inconvenient, i wasn't that into the fandom it was referencing anymore, and it just wasnt SNAPPY. magickgarlick? good vibes, i believe.  
> Also btw thank you to everyone who has left comments and kudos, everyone who has bookmarked this publicly and privately (i see you shadow bookmarkers in my stats and i 100% respect that decision) School has began again and exams are coming up, so it is possible i will update more slowly unless I'm hit with a massive burst of fanfiction energy as a method of avoiding studying. We'll just have to see how that pans out. No promises. This note has gotten long.

‘Would you like to go on a trip?’ Harry asked Tom, who looked up from his book with interest. 

‘Yes, where?’ Harry winked, took his arm, and disapparated. They were away in a whoosh before landing on solid ground. Snowy ground. Over in Ottery St Catchpole there was only sleet, but Diagon Alley had delicate flakes drifting downwards.

‘I just thought we should pick up some clothes for you, and a few other essentials.’ Harry explained, ‘This is Diagon Alley, the centre of Wizarding Britain.’

‘Diagonally?’ Tom said, regaining his wits fairly quickly.

‘Diagon Alley.’

‘How do you do that… disappearing in one place and reappearing in another. Can all wizards do that? Can I do that?’

‘They’ll teach you when you’re older. You need a license to apparate.’ Harry belatedly realised that he did not in fact have a license at this time.

The place was fizzing with magic, Harry let the sensation wash over him. A witch was arguing loudly at a magical ingredients stall that was set up in front of Jordanson’s Music Supplies, she was clutching what appeared to be a bunch of very leafy, wriggling worms.

‘This is robbery! It shouldn’t be near that many sickles for Banabesh vine!’

‘There's a Banabesh disease currently, much of the crop has died out- I’m afraid the price has risen.’

‘Last time I came, they were a quarter the price!’ 

‘I’m really very sorry ma’am- but I’m trying to make a living too.’ 

Tom eyed the Banabesh vines with an intense interest. 

‘Are those moving plants? Like a Venus Flytrap?’ He asked.

‘Yeah, but they don’t bite.’

‘What makes them plants and not animals, why aren’t they worms?’

Harry tried to bring back his herbology lessons from so many years ago. He closed his eyes and concentrated. 

‘They uh, eat sunlight. So they’re plants.’

Tom demanded to know more about the anatomy of Banabesh vines, and Harry tried his best to educate. 

‘But how do they move- do they have muscles like we do?’

‘Magic.’ Harry replied shortly, ‘They run on magic. I’m not very educated in magical plants or creatures, but if you really are very interested in this topic, we can stop by the bookshop.’

Tom’s eyes lit up, but he remained controlled. 

‘How many books can I have, sir?’ He asked unsurely.

‘Don’t call me sir,’ Harry laughed.

Tom looked like he was sucking on a lemon, and with much hesitation said.

‘Daddy?’

Harry really laughed now, wheezing.

‘Just call me Harry. I don’t need you to see me as a parent if you don’t want to.’ Harry backpedaled, ‘Of course, if you do want to, you can, but- er, I assumed that you wouldn't- yeah. Anyway, you can have, say… two galleons worth of books.’ 

‘What's a galleon?’ Tom asked. Harry felt a surge of nostalgia, recalling when Hagrid had stood with him here all those years ago. He scrambled with his hand in his pocket and brought out a galleon, a sickle and a knut. 

‘I’m not sure exactly how these translate to pounds- but this is a galleon,’ he said, holding up the gold coin. ‘This silvery one here is a sickle. There are seventeen sickles in a galleon, and this little one is a knut, with a “k”, there are twenty-nine knuts in a sickle.’

‘This currency is absurd.’ Tom said pompously.

Harry sighed, 

‘Yeah, I’m not the greatest mathematician, so I’d like some more round numbers myself.’

‘HARRY EVANS!’

Harry whipped around. There was a wizard, beaming with excitement. 

_ This feels all too familiar. _

‘Sorry, do I know you?’ Harry asked, knowing for a fact he didn’t, as he had only been in 1934 for a couple weeks. 

The wizard giggled, and replied with a vaguely European accent,

‘Of course not- I was in the audience at the Dueling Championships! You’re quite the talk around town, you know! Just excellent, amazing form, you took out the competition effortlessly!’

Harry thought of Flitwick. 

‘I wouldn't say “effortlessly.”’

‘And so modest as well! Say- where did you learn to duel like that? No one’s heard of you before, it seems as though you fell from the sky!’

‘Experience. Come on Tom, let’s go-’

‘You have a son?’

‘Er. Well, yes, adoptive.’ 

The man leaned down until he was face to face with Tom, who moved closer to Harry, and surprisingly, grasped at his sleeve. 

‘One day, I’ll bet you’ll be as good a duelist as your father. Best I've seen! Best in all of Britain, aside from Albus Dumbledore, I'd suspect.’ 

‘You really do exaggerate, Mr…’

‘Grüneaugen, Tobias Grüneaugen.’ 

‘Well Mr… Grüneaugen, we really must be going, have a nice day.’ 

Tom kept a hold of his sleeve. Harry smiled warmly at him. 

‘Sorry about that.’

‘I didn’t know you were famous, Harry.’ That was the first time he had called him by his name. It felt good.

‘Neither did I. I mean- I'm not.’ Merlin, not again. Fame was incredibly irritating. Ah well, this would blow over soon enough, It's not as if he defeated a dark lord. People never let you forget things like that.

They arrived at Madam Malkin’s Robes For All Occasions. Tom only had two sets of clothing, and a jersey. It wasn't bad clothing, but it was worn and faded and muggle.

‘It’s time we upgraded your wardrobe.’ 

‘I won’t have to wear bright green, will I?’

‘Not if you don’t want to.’ laughed Harry.

A bell jingled as they walked inside.

Madam Malkin was a young woman with wavy brown hair. Either it was the same one as his time, and she was much older than he had thought she was, or it was her mother. Harry leaned toward the latter.

‘Hello, I’m Melanie Malkin, welcome to my shop.’

She cast an eye over at Tom, 

‘Off for Hogwarts, dearie?’ 

‘Oh, no,’ Harry cut in, ‘not for a few years yet.’ 

‘Ah. I must say, sir, I love your coat, such a bold colour.’ 

Harry blushed slightly with embarrassment, 

‘Simply a fudged colour change charm, I’m afraid.’ 

‘That is what I would label a happy accident- the colour brings out your eyes, you look charming, if I can say so.’ she murmured prettily.

‘Thank you. I was wondering if I could get a few pairs of robes for young Tom here, and perhaps some more practical clothing as well.’ 

‘Yes, is he yours?’ 

‘Yes.’ Harry answered, casting an eye over at Tom and hoping he felt comfortable with the claim. He didn't protest, thankfully. 

She retreated into the back room and emerged with a pile of fabric. 

‘These look to be about your size, but we can make adjustments if necessary. Put this on, sweetheart.’ she said, handing Tom a plain black robe. Harry helped him put his arms in the sleeves and did up the silver buttons in the front. Tom tensed at his touch. 

It was slightly short. Malkin waved her wand and it grew an inch. ‘Bit large in the shoulders,’ she mumbled, and tapped each shoulder, shrinking the width. 

Tom observed with blatant curiosity, rubbing each shoulder when she was done.

‘That’s good,’ Harry said, ‘can I get a couple more of the same, in- what colours would you like, Tom?’

‘Black is fine.’ Tom replied,

‘An all black wardrobe? That's rather dull.’ Malkin commented, ‘Perhaps you should take some pointers from your father about dressing vibrantly.’ Something seemed to take ahold of Tom, a rage that felt too sudden to be real.

‘HE IS _NOT_ MY FATHER. ’ Tom seethed, eyes wild and tense. Malkin was taken quite aback. The boy relaxed as quickly as he’d exploded, retracting into a demure child again. ‘Sorry- I- sorry Harry.’

‘No no, that's fine.’ Harry replied, shaken. Malkin looked rather concerned, and Harry sent her a look telling her not to ask. 

He purchased three identical black robes for Tom, a lovely red jersey, two new pairs of pants and one pair of shorts, three shirts and a sensible brown coat. He also picked up plenty of socks and underwear.

‘Before you go, I wonder if you’d like to take a look at the jewellery, for that special witch in your life?’

‘No thanks.’ Harry said, chest tight with thoughts of Ginny. He suddenly wanted to leave very quickly.

‘Is there… not a witch in your life then?’ Harry looked at Malkin, who was batting her eyelashes alluringly.

‘Goodbye, Madam Malkin.’ Harry said, and ushered Tom out the door.

‘Next stop, bookshop.’ 

Tom was quiet.

Harry stopped, and knelt down in front of the boy. ‘What's wrong, Tom?’

‘I didn’t mean to say that. You can be my father if you want to be. Just don’t send me back.’ 

Harry deflated.

‘Oh.  _ Tom. _ ’ Tom looked up with defiant eyes, ‘I would never leave you. I haven’t known you very long, but you are my responsibility now. You don’t have to see me as your father, but I see you as my _son._ ’ When the words left his mouth, he knew they were true. He had felt an instant connection when he saw Tom, and something in him was more whole than it had been in awhile. 

Harry clasped Tom’s little hands in his own, tightly, and told himself again that Tom would never even _think_ of the name Voldemort.


	7. Diagon Alley (2)

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> every damn time im like 'i'll only update once this week i have to save my chapters owo ahahaha' then i get comments and validation and i go 'lets drop another one yolo'

The bookshop was musty and hummed with magical energies. Tom immediately set to search every shelf. Harry browsed through the quidditch and cooking sections.

‘Looking for anything in particular, sir?’

‘Do you perhaps have any books on, ah, raising… children?’

‘Er. Certainly.’ 

Harry was looking through  _ Magic Menaces- Little Witches and Wizards and How To Not Throttle Them _ when a familiar face peered at him.

‘Dumbledore- I mean, Professor-’

‘It’s good to see you again, my man out of time.’ He remarked. His eyes twinkled, but perhaps not as brightly as a Dumbledore decades older.

‘Muffliato.’

Dumbledore blinked slowly.

‘That’s the second time you've used that spell. I haven't heard it before, but it’s very useful. Where did you come by it- or did you create it yourself?’

‘An old book.’ Harry replied vaguely.

‘Interesting. I can’t help but note that you’ve adopted a child.’

‘Yes.’ Harry replied, suddenly on guard. 

‘Rather strange…’ he mused, ‘for that to be the very first thing you decide to do in this time. Tell me, is the boy significant in the future?’

Harry wanted to trust Dumbledore, Merlin, how he wanted. But this wasn’t his Dumbledore, he realised. This was someone different. The man had done things, thought things in his past that did not match up with who he became. If he knew Tom was a future dark lord, what  _ would he do? _

‘No. Tom isn’t significant. He was just a magical child that reminded me of my own situation as a boy. I would have wished for some wizard to have come to adopt me.’

Dumbledore blinked thoughtfully. 

‘I’m sorry to hear of your struggles. Still, without an identity, it’s a great risk to take on a ward. The ministry can be very finicky about magical children.’

Harry shrugged.

‘I’ll just say that I’m muggleborn if they ask.’

‘Are you?’

‘I don’t see how that’s relevant.’ Harry replied.

‘Perhaps not. You’ll have to forgive an old man.’

‘You’re as young as I’ve ever seen you.’ Harry said.

Dumbledore grinned brightly, 

‘Hoh hoh! I suppose that must be true! Tell me, am I even more of an old fart come 2003?’

Harry’s throat caught. He slowly blinked, haunted.

‘I-’ He exhaled slowly.

‘Ah.’ The man said. ‘I see.’

‘Harry!’ a little voice rose from below.

‘Ampfliato.’ Harry muttered.

‘Well, my good chap.’ Dumbledore said, ‘I must bid you farewell. And you as well, my boy.’ He said, tipping his hat to Tom. He strolled off humming, as if he hadn’t been informed of his death moments earlier.

‘Who was that?’ asked Tom.

‘An old friend.’ Harry replied wistfully.

Tom seemed to think about it for a moment, before promptly deciding that it wasn’t very interesting.

‘I’ve chosen my books.’ He had a veritable stack in his wiry arms. ‘They come to exactly two galleons, ' he said defensively. 

Harry lifted the books from Tom.

_ Introduction To Magick _

_ Poison and Antidote _

_ Mind Magic _

_ The Gardener’s Guide To Herbology _

_ 101 Spells Every First-Year Should Know _

_ Runes: A Dictionary _

_ Salem and Beyond: Our History _

‘Mind magic?’ Harry asked, setting the other books aside and idly flipping through.

Legilimency, occlumency, compulsions, and even a section on Imperio. 

_ Fuck no. _

‘You’re too young for this book, it has some dark things in it. The others are… Probably fine. Would you like to get a different one?’ 

‘What’s dark about it?’ 

‘It talks about an unforgivable curse.’ Harry said shortly. The real reason is that Tom was naturally gifted in compulsion magic, had been unconsciously using it his entire life, and Harry didn't want to be the one he honed his craft on. Plus, if anyone could become a master legilimens from a book at age seven…

‘Unforgivable curse?’

‘Very, very illegal.’

‘What’s the curse, why’s it illegal?’ 

‘It’s a spell used to control people.’ Harry answered hesitantly. 

Tom’s interest spiked, he locked eyes with Harry.

‘There's a spell for that? Can you make them do whatever you want? Anything?’

_ Merlin help me. _

The boy had lit up with glee.

‘Some people are resistant to it, but that's the general idea. It’s illegal, and if you’re found doing it, you go to wizard prison, which is ten times worse than muggle prison.’ Harry warned, his stomach in knots.

‘Why’s it worse?’

‘That's not appropriate to talk about with a child. Pick out a new book, please.’

Tom seemed severely disappointed, but he complied. He trudged off to put away the book. It took quite a while for him to pick a new one. 

_ The Secrets of Divination: Unlocking Your Future _

Harry raised an eyebrow and forced a grin. 

‘Never put much stock in divination, but perhaps you have the gift?’

He went to pay, buying only one book for himself.

_ Raise Her Right _

A book about child rearing obviously. 

‘I’m feeling peckish- what would you like for lunch?’

‘Something I haven’t tried before.’

‘What have you tried?’

Tom began listing.

‘Porridge, pie, bread, potatoes, carrots, peas, beef, chicken, ham, cheese, scones… and cake. And the things you cooked for me.’

‘That it?’

‘Those are the main things.’

They walked through the bustling street, so familiar and unfamiliar. There were a lot of places Harry didn't recognise, and a lot of places missing. A scent caught onto Harry’s nose, fragrant spices. 

Huh. A Turkish place. He hadn’t seen one of those in Wizarding Britain before.

They ended up eating there. Harry struck up a conversation with the owner, apparently they had moved here a couple years ago and experienced great success with their restaurant. He couldn't pronounce the names of any of the dishes, and kebabs were  _ not  _ on the menu, so he took their recommendations. Tom was incredibly confused about what he was eating, but enjoyed it nonetheless. 

‘Is this wizard food?’

‘Nah, it’s Turkish food.’ 

Harry flicked through  _ Raise Her Right  _ as they ate.

It said in the book you should get a child a pet to teach them responsibility and empathy. That sounded good.

‘Would you like a pet? A cat or a rat or something?’ Harry asked.

‘A rat?’ Tom asked, disgusted, ‘why would I want pet vermin?’

‘Cat then?’ 

‘I want a dragon.’ Tom said. 

Harry choked on a piece of falafel. Coughing and spluttering, he replied,

‘Dragon breeding was outlawed in 1709.’

‘So, dragons are real then?’

‘Very real, very dangerous. I wouldn't recommend getting tangled up with them.’

‘What other pets do wizards have?’

‘Owls, mostly. But that won’t be useful for you because you don't write letters yet. I’ll get you one before you go to Hogwarts. Also toads are quite popular. I’ll take you to Magical Menagerie to have a look.’ Harry carefully did not mention snakes.


	8. Diagon Alley (3)

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Yeah hi im back.

Magical Menagerie was as chaotic as ever, filled with squawking and meowing and barking and talking. There was a litter of beautiful foxes, dark blue fur studded with shining spots. One of the sleeping pups snorted and rolled over, as the mother watched on proudly with golden eyes. They looked like the night sky.

‘Look Tom- fox cubs, aren’t they sweet?’ Tom glanced at them.

‘Yes.’ he replied, before beelining to the reptile enclosures. Harry sighed. 

Tom was whispering to a very large snake, perhaps seven feet long. Harry almost chuckled, it was patterned with bright red and yellow, a Gryffindor snake. 

That hit a little close to home. Additionally, it probably meant it was venomous.

‘You can’t get a snake.’ Harry said firmly.

‘Why not?’ Tom demanded.

‘Because- because I’m deathly afraid of them, that’s why.’ Harry said untruthfully.

Tom sneered.

‘You  _ will  _ let me get a snake.’ and the compulsion in his words was as thick as molasses. 

‘That doesn't work on me, Tom.’ Harry said gently, feeling inwardly annoyed the boy had the gall to try.

There was nothing much wrong with snakes, though he had to admit the idea of boy-Voldemort with a pet snake caused a visceral negative reaction. It was more that Harry knew that magical snakes were intelligent, and had personalities. Harry could no longer speak parseltongue, so he wouldn't know what conversations the two had, if the snake was whispering dark things into Tom’s ears.

‘You said that it's rare to be able to talk to snakes. I  _ deserve  _ to have one. What if I don’t talk to them enough and I forget how? Then I won’t be special anymore. Harry, you have to let me have one.’ Tom explained slowly.

‘I’ll get you a muggle snake, but not a magical snake.’ Harry offered. From what he remembered of the small snakes in the grasses of his childhood, they had had very little to say. The only intelligent snake he remembered talking to outside the wizarding world was the brazilian one in the enclosure at Dudley's birthday, but he wasn’t entirely sure that was a muggle snake.

‘A muggle snake?’ Tom asked incredulously, ‘why would I want a  _ muggle _ snake?’

‘I’m not scared of muggle snakes.’ Harry declared confidently. ‘Do you want a different pet, or should we go?’

‘You’re being unreasonable, Harry. _ ’  _ Tom said, patiently, as though he could simply convince Harry. His little hands had curled into fists. ‘I don’t like it when people act unreasonably.’ 

_ ‘Ssspeaker… what are you talking to the tall one about?...’  _

Harry froze. 

He hadn’t heard… 

No.

Harry hadn’t heard a snake speak since the horcrux inside him was destroyed. His abilities came from Voldemort, he couldn't, he wasn't-

‘Harry? Are you being scared of the snakes?’ Tom asked, tugging his sleeve. 

He didn’t realise before, he hadn't heard hissing among the other animal noises when he came into the shop, he had heard lots of chatter. He assumed it was other customers, but upon closer inspection there were few around. It had been the snakes.

How?  _ Why? _

Well, there went his only concern about Tom having a snake. In fact… It would be good to know what he said when he thought Harry wasn’t listening. 

‘I’ve had some bad… experiences with snakes.’ Harry said truthfully, ‘But perhaps this could be...an opportunity for me to get over it. Let's keep looking.’

‘So I  _ can _ have a snake?’ 

‘Yes,’ Harry uttered, ‘though I’m not sure they're allowed at Hogwarts.’

Triumph glowed in Tom’s cheeks. 

‘I’m glad that you understood that I was right about this.’

‘Hm.’ Maybe he should have stuck to what he said before, just so that Tom knew he couldn’t manipulate him. This was probably setting a bad precedent. They looked around the shop for twenty minutes or so.

Tom wanted a silver snake, but Harry didn’t trust it, it filled Tom’s ears with sweetness and flattery. He pushed him toward a black snake who seemed friendly. 

_ ‘What isss your name?’  _ Tom asked the snake,

_ ‘Buttercup,’  _ the snake hissed back.

‘He says he’s called Leviathan.’ 

_ ‘I’m female.’ _

Harry couldn’t bring himself to feel amused by these antics.

‘Leviathan? Funny name.’ 

‘Have you heard it before?’ 

‘No.’ Harry answered honestly.

‘I have.’ Tom said proudly, ‘It’s said in The Holy Book.’ 

‘You think that his previous owner was Christian?’

‘Maybe.’ Tom replied loftily, ‘how am I to know?’

_ I know you just thought of the name yourself, little bastard. _

‘Do you want to adopt this one?’ Harry asked.

‘I want the silver one.’ Tom grumbled.

‘I told you Tom, I’m more scared of silver magical snakes than black magical snakes.’

‘I don’t think you’re really scared of magical snakes at all.’ Tom remarked suspiciously. He sniffed. ‘I suppose he’ll do.’ _   
_ ‘Leviathan. Well, welcome to the family.’

_ ‘He sseemsss nice, and tasssty.’ _

_ ‘Don’t harm Harry.’  _ Tom warned.

Harry felt touched that he was being protected. 

_ Parselmouth Potter is back, eh? _

Harry tried to quell the discomfort that pooled in his gut at the thought.

_ Tainted. You’ll always be tainted. _

_ But why now? Why is it back? _

‘Tom, don’t speak to Leviathan, or any snake for that manner when we are in public. It will cause people to develop the wrong idea.’ Harry said quietly. 

‘The wrong idea?’ 

‘I’ll tell you about it tonight.’

Buttercup slipped under Toms robes, poking her head out.

Harry paid for Buttercup, as well as ordering a large, magically warmed snake tank to be sent to their address. He was given a pamphlet on snake care which he promptly handed to Tom. 

‘What did the clothes shop lady mean, when she said special witch?’ Tom asked, as they sat on a public bench, enjoying a hot chocolate. Buttercup tried to sip out of Tom’s cup a few times, but it was an effort in vain.

‘She meant a girlfriend, or a wife.’

Tom hummed.

‘But you don’t have one of those.’

‘No. I suppose not.’

_ Red hair, brown eyes, laughter, freckles, full belly and fast flying brooms- _

‘Are you going to get one?’ 

It occured to Harry that Tom might want a mother. And who wouldn’t? When Harry had sat, alone, in his dark cupboard with knees pulled to his chest, he imagined more than just a father. He had wanted a mother, soft, kind, understanding.

‘Maybe.’ he said, and it felt like a betrayal. How could he move on from Ginny?

‘Don’t.’ 

Huh.

‘Don’t?’

‘You don’t need anyone else. I’m enough.’

‘You… don’t want a mother?’

Tom twisted his lips.

‘No. I never did. My mother abandoned me.’

‘She died, Tom.’ Harry said gently.

Fire raged in the boy's eyes.

‘If she loved me, she wouldn’t have been  _ so weak _ .’

‘She didn’t choose to die.’ 

He stared at Harry with an intensity that unnerved him. 

‘What do you know?’ he spat.

Harry hardened his gaze.

‘My mother was killed when I was an infant. She sacrificed her life to save me. Your mother  _ survived  _ long enough to bring you into the world. That was deliberate. She was  _ not  _ weak.’

Tom’s face contorted. 

_ ‘Harry.’ _ he hissed in parseltongue,  _ ‘never get married.’ _

‘English in public please.’

Tom turned away enraged, shaking.

Harry’s scar prickled. He jerked, quickly pressing his fingers to it. His hand was trembling.

They didn’t speak again until they were home.

Harry listened to Buttercup moan about the cold. He wondered if the instant connection he had felt with Tom was more complicated than he had thought.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I kinda felt like this chap was a bit dramatic and cringe but it is what it is.  
> anyway- a wild plot point appears!


	9. The Minister

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Ok i'm actually pretty sure about the direction of my story now so im feeling a hell of a lot more secure lol

The sun had set.

Harry rocked back and forth in his armchair in front of the crackling fire, reading his parenting book very closely. Tom was making his way through the books he had bought, a tattered dictionary at his side (Harry had gotten all his essentials from a second hand bookshop- the tattiness made it seem like he had been in the world for longer than a month). He seemed to look up words every twenty seconds or so, but he was determined to comprehend the material aimed at adults. He had sulked for a few hours after their conversation about his mother, but then, all of a sudden, appeared to simply _decide_ to get over it. He was behaving normally, maybe even more friendly than usual

_It’s an act._

Harry quelled the intrusive whispers. He had to give this _seven year old_ the benefit of the doubt.

Buttercup slinked over to Harry, and slid up his leg. He shivered. 

_‘Big one isss warm…’_ Harry held back his natural instinct to hiss a thank you. It was strange to hear the snake tongue again. He really hoped he wouldn’t mess up, because not only would he have to make up some story as to how he was also a parselmouth, he’d have to own up to keeping it a secret. He stared at Tom, pondering the strange pull he felt toward him. 

The boy looked up.

‘What is it, Harry?’ 

‘Nothing.’ Harry mumbled. 

_‘Leviathan, come back here.’_ Tom hissed. Buttercup hurriedly disentangled herself from Harry.

‘Thanks.’ Harry went back to his book. It said it was very important that children interact with others their age, develop social skills. ‘Tom.’ 

‘Yes Harry?’

‘There's a family near here- the Lovegood’s. They’re strange, but kind.’ Harry recalled when Luna had shown him her family tree. ‘I’m fairly certain they have a boy your age, Solaris. You should hang out with him.’

‘Hang out?’ Tom asked.

‘Er, play with him. Become his friend.’ Circe, when had “hang out” become slang anyway? Probably after 1934. 

‘Hm. Why am I not allowed to speak snake in public?’

Harry sighed. He really didn't want to tell Tom that he was the last descendant of one of the most famous wizards of all time and had a special ability shared by no one else (as far as anyone knew). 

Still, he told him. He told him all of it, even the story of the Gaunts, how they had fallen into decrepitude and inbreeding. 

‘The reason you haven’t gone mad is likely because your mother introduced fresh blood.’

‘Muggle blood.’ Tom said.

‘In the wizarding world, that's often the freshest sort.’

Tom thought for a moment, looking very worried.

‘Is my magic only half as strong as normal because I'm only half wizard?’

‘No, the amount of magical blood doesn’t have an effect on the potency of magic, not that I’ve observed. The cleverest witch I’ve ever known was a muggleborn. That means two muggle parents. I myself am a halfblood.’

‘You’re a halfblood too? Was your mother or your father the muggle?’

‘They were both magical, but my mum was a muggleborn, which makes me a halfblood.’

‘That doesn't make sense.’

Harry shrugged.

‘Perhaps not.’

Tom was silent for a few seconds.

‘If you’re a halfblood, and you won that big competition and proved you were better than everyone else, then I’m okay with being a halfblood as well.’ he decided.

There was a knock at the door.

Odd. Perhaps a neighbour saying hello. At half past eight in the evening.

Harry opened it, and a distinguished man wearing dark blue robes looked him over.

Harry smiled warmly.

‘Hullo- are you our neighbour?’

‘I am Hector Fawley, the current Minister for Magic. May I come in, Harry Evans?’

Tom slipped into the doorway, his book abandoned on the floor. Fawleys eyes fell upon the boy. ‘You have a son?’ he asked.

Harry nodded. Fawley sighed, ‘Then take a walk with me outside, and we can talk.’

Harry bent down slightly.

‘I’m going to leave you in the house for a few minutes. Just go back to your reading.’ 

‘Who is he? What is he here for?’ Tom questioned, eyes flicking up to Fawley, ‘What's a Minister for Magic, is he important? What does he need to talk to you for?’

Fawley chuckled, the hard line of his jaw softening.

‘Full of questions, this one. That's good, it's good to ask questions. I’ll need to borrow Harry for just a moment.’

‘I’ll tell you about it afterwards, Tom.’ Harry promised, and the boy reluctantly backed away, glancing up as he settled back onto his cushion with his book.

Harry closes the door behind him.

‘Lets walk, then. Though I’m unsure as to what the Minister for Magic would want to talk with me about. I’m hardly anyone important.’

‘You aren’t anyone at all.’ Wow. Blunt.

‘Yes- exactly, so-’

‘I _mean_ that I can find no previous records of Harry Evans. I can’t find family, I can’t find anyone who has heard of you before. I even checked through muggle governmental records, but no one who matched your description _was_ you. You appeared, apparently from out of nowhere, and won a dueling competition which brought professionals from all around Britain, and some from the continent. Many trained Aurors partook. You are exceptionally talented and you do not exist. Who _are_ you, Harry Evans?’

Harry was quiet. Fawley continued. ‘I have my theories, of course. The dueling championships were suspicious- an anonymous donor? We suspected immediately that it was Grindelwald trying to find talented wizards to recruit. We have now confirmed that theory.’ Fawley turned his hard gaze onto Harry. ‘We wondered if he brought one of his own to pit against them, to see if they were up to standard, and save some prize money.’

‘What?’ Harry replied, gobsmacked, processing what the minister had just said. ‘You think I’m… working for _Grindelwald?_ ’

‘Your identity is clearly fake.’ 

Well, he wasn’t wrong about that.

‘I do not work for Grindelwald, I can assure you of that. His ideologies _disgust_ me.’

‘There are twenty Aurors surrounding your property. Listen very closely to what I say or you could find yourself in Azkaban.’

The blood drained from Harry’s face.

‘ _What._ You have no proof I’m working for Grindelwald. You can’t put me in there without a trial! I- that's disgusting, you wretched, wormy little-’

‘Who would protest? _No one knows you, “Harry Evans.”_ Unless you’re trying to tell me that Grindelwald would break you out?’ 

Harry’s heart sped up and his blood boiled.

He couldn’t go to Azkaban, then what would happen to Tom?- The Ministry, the damned Ministry and its pervasive corruption was here at this time too. In the future, after betraying everyone in the war, the pendulum had somewhat swung, but he and Hermione still fought every day to improve that place. None of that had happened yet and Fawley looked at Harry with the tired eyes of a man who thought he was really doing the only thing he could.

The thought of those dementors, those blackened, awful hands, gaping mouths, sucking every drop of happiness-

He had known Fawley for five minutes.

He _hated_ him.

‘I’m not a spy _._ ’ He stated, closing his eyes, ‘I’m really, genuinely not.’ 

‘We are at war. Desperate times call for desperate measures. I have to think about what is best for my country.’

‘So what? You arrest me, kill me, give me the kiss?’ Harry said, feeling a strange urge to burst into laughter.

Fawley looked closely at Harry. 

‘I want you to tell us information about Grindelwald, his plans, his next moves.’

Harry breathed deeply and shakily, and he did laugh a little then, somewhat hysterically.

‘I can’t be a double agent, if I don’t _actually work for Grindelwald.’_

‘Even if you are telling the truth, I’m sure he’ll contact you soon enough, considering the championship. We will approach you monthly for updates, and if you have any urgent news you can contact me directly-’ he handed Harry a small notebook, ‘by writing in this. Keep it on you at all times. You will be compensated for your troubles. You won’t know when we’ll come to be updated, but it will be when you are alone. Be ready.’

He apparated away with a crack, and then a cacophony of cracks followed as all the hidden Aurors, (Merlin knows _where_ they were hiding) followed him.

Harry shook with anger. This was a new start, things like _this_ were _not_ supposed to happen to him. This was for Harry _Potter,_ not _Evans_.

‘Damn and blast it all.’ 

He went back inside, and Tom was waiting just behind the door.

‘What did he want to talk about?’

‘It’s adult business, Tom. I'm afraid I can’t share it.’ Harry said tersely.

‘You said you would tell me after. Why did you lie?’ Tom asked lowly.

Harry looked Tom in his eyes. His face was pinched into something resembling pleasantness, but a storm brewed beneath those slate grey irises. 

‘Having this information…’ Harry began, ‘Is something that could _endanger_ you.’ He probably already was in danger, somehow Harry had been caught up in the business of Grindelwald. Tom was irrevocably tied to him at this point, because there were people who knew Harry cared about him. 

Tom was protesting but Harry was in a daze, he couldn’t hear anything. He lightly stepped away.

People, whether it was the ministry or Grindelwald would use Tom against him. Maybe he could run away with Tom, off to Australia or wherever they wouldn’t be able to find them. Merlin, the whole point of this is that Tom was supposed to get a _normal_ childhood. Not one where he changed his name and hid as a fugitive. Still, that was something Harry was willing to resort to.

_Could I defeat Grindelwald?_

The thought passed as quickly as it came. He wasn’t good enough, wasn’t strong enough. He knew that. He had bested Voldemort because the man was fractured and unhinged. Grindelwald was sane, relatively. He was smart, and he had the Elder Wand. 

He would walk the tightrope, play this game. His occlumency had improved leaps and bounds from his teenage years, after the interrogation survival training he had been put through when becoming an Auror. He was no Snape, but he could make this work.

Fuck, he did not sign up for this.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> as you can see--- plot???


	10. Christmas

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> It's a christmas special badabing

Very soon it was December twenty-fifth. Harry marvelled that it had only been twenty five days since he’d arrived in 1934. So much had happened. He dragged in a christmas-esque tree, wet with sleet, and he and Tom strung it with baubles charmed to flicker and glow. Harry fondly remembered the shining magical decorations which filled Hogwarts at this time of the year.

Evening came.

Harry prepared a veritable feast- roast pork, potatoes and carrot, peas and mash. He also served a dessert of treacle tart, he knew the house elves' recipe by heart, and it tasted like home.

‘Hullo!’ called out a man's voice. ‘Happy Yuletide neighbour! Could you drop your protective charms for the moment?’ 

Harry opened the door, on his pathway, about twenty yards from the door stood a man, woman and child, all struggling against an invisible barrier. He had put up wards after the fiasco with the minister, and they repelled everyone except for him and Tom. Not only did he not want Fawley to drop in unannounced, he also had to grapple with the possibility of Grindelwald coming to recruit him. He knew people like that could break through his wards easily, but at least it gave him some time to get him and Tom away and safe. 

Harry eyed their eccentric clothing, the boy and mother’s pale blond hair, and figured they must be the Lovegoods. 

‘Sorry!’ Harry yelled, ‘I’ll let you right in.’ He retracted the protective wall, and they walked on over.

‘I don’t blame you. One can’t be too careful in these troubled times.’ The man said solemnly. He had cropped auburn hair and suntanned skin, greatly contrasting the faerie-like transparency of his wife and son. He stuck out his hand and grinned, ‘The name is Mikolik Lovegood, this is my wife Aurora, and my son, Solaris.’

‘Merry Christmas.’ Aurora murmured, maintaining intense eye contact with Harry. She had a soft European accent- he thought maybe Norweigian? Solaris didn’t speak, but he smiled slightly. 

‘Merry Christmas, I’m Harry, and I live here with my ward, Tom.’ he replied. ‘I’ve been meaning to say hello to my neighbours, but life seemed to get in the way. Would you like to come inside? I can fix you some hot chocolate.’

‘That would be fantastic.’ Mikolik said.

They came in, and marvelled at the Christmas decor.

‘Wow! A traditional muggle Christmas- I really do love the muggles' take on the holiday, it's simply so… jovial! We should really incorporate these things into our Yuletide celebrations, eh Aurora?’

Harry shrugged.

‘We were both raised in the muggle world. To be completely honest, I don’t know as much as I should about traditional wizarding holidays. They tended to stick to the muggle stuff at school.’

‘Did you attend Hogwarts?’ Aurora asked softly. 

‘Er. No.’ Harry replied, knowing there were no records of him having gone there. ‘I went to Ilvermorny.’ he fibbed.

‘Studied abroad, eh?’ Mikolik commented, ‘what was Wizarding America like? How did it compare to Britain?’ 

Harry had been to America a couple times to investigate Auror business, but had never spent a great amount of time there.

‘Similar, really.’ he replied, hoping they wouldn’t question him further. Tom was wearing the thick woollen jersey Harry had bought him for Christmas. He would have liked it to have a nice big “T” on it, but the shop didn’t stock that, and Harry couldn’t knit. Still, it was a lovely cream. He had gotten Buttercup a jersey too, of sorts, (It was technically a leg warmer but he wouldn’t tell her that) in the bright yellow of her namesake.

Tom told him that Leviathan hated it and thought that it was beneath him, but Harry heard Buttercup's pleased hisses and knew that was a lie.

They sipped hot cocoa and traded stories, Harry greatly doctoring his. He told him about the time he had caught the snitch in his mouth, telling the story very dramatically.

Using a sweeping broom, he mimed him circling above the quidditch pitch, they burst into laughter when he pretended to dive a little too hard and fell over, Harry laughing the hardest of all. Tom did _not_ look impressed.

It was Christmas- time to celebrate and _not_ think about the Ministry potentially arresting him if he doesn't manage to get recruited by a dark lord. So that’s exactly what Harry did.

‘You know, Harry, I’m part of the local quidditch team. We’re _looking_ for a new seeker, actually. Our current one has no qualms about repeatedly expressing that he would rather be a chaser! You could try out, if you’re any good, or even above mediocre really, we’re only a small club.’ Mikolik spouted.

‘I’ve been told I’m, ah, quite good.’ Harry said. 

‘Well then, come down to the pitch bright and early on sunday morning!’

Aurora nudged Mikolik and whispered something in his ear. He nodded. ‘Or afternoon if it suits better!’ 

‘I don’t mind an early morning.’ Harry said.

Mikolik smiled broadly.

‘We have a children's Quidditch club as well- nothing big, but perhaps Tom would like to join? Solaris is in it, and it’s been a great way for him to make friends.’ he gave the silent boy an affectionate rub on the head, ‘hasn’t it Solaris?’ Solaris nodded.

‘Maybe.’ Harry said, ‘Oh, Tom, Quidditch is a sport played on flying broomsticks, would you be interested in learning more about it?’ 

‘Oh.’ Mikolik said, ‘does Tom not know about Quidditch?’ 

‘I adopted him rather recently.’ Harry replied. 

Tom’s lip curled, just slightly. 

‘Maybe I will play.’ The boy said shortly. ‘I don’t know if I like it yet.’

‘Well then!’ Mikolik clapped his hands together, ‘you just come down to the pitch with your fath- with Harry, and we’ll show you what it’s all about!’

They chatted for another hour, the time just whistling on by. Mikolik was a big talker, and he and Harry got along splendidly. Aurora occasionally contributed to the conversation, but mostly seemed content to listen. Tom read.

Solaris was as still and silent as a stone. It was uncanny. He simply sat, stared blankly into space. Neither of his parents deigned to comment on it, so neither did Harry.

After a few more cups of cocoa, the Lovegoods left.

Harry washed the cups, humming.

‘Wasn’t it lovely to meet our neighbours, Tom?’

‘Yes.’ Tom said, ‘It was lovely.’ 

‘Do you think you and Solaris could be friends?’

‘I wouldn’t know, it’s not as though he spoke. Is he dumb?’

Harry had also wondered if the boy was mute.

‘I’m not sure, he may not speak very much, or yes, he may simply not speak at all. But friendships are more than just conversation.’

‘Hm.’ 

‘You’ll be starting back at school soon, which will be an opportunity to make plenty of friends. It was fairly last minute but I’ve managed to enroll you into a primary school near here, for the spring term.’

‘Is it for wizard children?’ Tom asked. Harry shook his head.

‘No, in the wizarding world people tend to educate their own children, or hire tutors or governesses. I’ve decided to send you to a normal primary school so that you don’t forget how to act in the muggle world, and how to hide your abilities.’

‘What? I don’t want to go to a muggle school- muggle children are _awful,_ everyone at Wool’s _hated me._ ’ 

‘Sometimes children can be mean. It doesn’t matter whether they're magical or muggle.’ Harry said.

‘Solaris isn't mean.’ Tom said.

_It's difficult to be mean without speaking or looking at people._

‘Solaris seems like a... nice boy, but not all young wizards are nice, and not all young muggles are unkind. Surely, there must have been _someone_ at the orphanage that wasn’t all bad. What about…’ Harry wracked his brains, ‘Sally! Sally seemed… sweet.’ he felt awful thinking of Sally. She had deserved a home, they all had.

‘Weak.’ Tom spat, ‘always crying, moaning about her dead parents. At least she had them, for a while. We couldn’t _sleep_ for all her racket.’

‘Tom.’ Harry said quietly, ‘that’s an _awful_ thing to say.’ 

‘That’s what we all said.’ Tom defended, ‘it wasn’t just me who thought so.’

‘And it was _awful.’_ Harry repeated. Tom scowled.

‘Why can’t you teach me? Solaris’ mum teaches him!’ he deflected. Mikolik had mentioned that earlier, Tom must have been listening more closely than Harry thought. 

‘Because it’s important to me you interact with lots of children your age.’ Harry explained calmly.

‘You just don’t want me around anymore- you, you want to see me less! That's why you wanted me to become friends with Solaris!’

_‘Tom.’_

‘I bet you’re going to give me to the Lovegoods!’ Tom continued, ‘you’re going to abandon me just like my mother did-’

 _‘TOM!_ YOU’RE BEING UNREASONABLE!’ Harry shouted. Tom stilled. Harry roughly combed his fingers through his hair, _‘sorry-_ I’m sorry, I didn’t mean to yell. I shouldn’t have yelled at you. I promise I won’t give you to the Lovegoods, I would _never_ give you away.’ _Why did he do that? Stupid, stupid-_

Tom looked dully at him.

‘You said I was awful.’ he accused, lip wobbling slightly.

‘No, no, you aren’t awful Tom, you’re _wonderful.’_

‘You’re lying.’

‘Tom. _Darling.’_ Harry placed a hand on Tom’s head, ‘you aren’t awful, you just _said_ something that was awful, but you didn’t know it was bad.’ He struggled to explain, ‘Here… with me, it's different from the orphanage. When you were there, you were trying to survive, you had to have certain defences, just like all the other kids. You don’t have to do that anymore, and it’s important to me, first and foremost that you are _kind_.’

‘You want me to be _weak_ like _Sally._ You liked her better.' Tom stated.

 _‘No Tom,_ I want you to be the strong person you already are, _and_ more compassionate.’

Tom looked at Harry, and Harry looked at Tom. There seemed to be some sort of internal battle within the boy. He breathed out in whoosh, and blinked.

‘Okay.’ He said.

_You hypocrite. You just shouted at a child._

_What if he was scared? Don’t show that you’re angry, don’t show that you’re angry you’re just like Aunt Petunia and Uncle Vernon and Dudley and-_

_How can you tell him to be compassionate? YOU’RE A MURDERER, YOU KILLED HIM-_

‘Would you like some fruitcake?’ Harry asked.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> fruitcake is highkey gross ngl.


	11. Birthday

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I'm not gonna update for a while after this- i have a few things going on irl that i need to attend to, (school, exams etc) and i need to mull a few things in the story over before proceeding. But i will get back onto this in at most a couple months!

‘The new year is coming up soon.’ Harry commented. Snow had covered Ottery St. Catchpole overnight. He burned another hopeful letter challenging him to a duel.

‘Yes.’ Tom replied without looking up from his book.

‘Isn’t it your birthday then?’

‘...Yes.’

‘Do you want to do something special for your birthday?’

Tom closed and set down the book.

‘At the orphanage, when it was your birthday, you didn’t have to do chores all day, and you got seconds at dinner.’

‘That's pretty cool.’ Harry said. Certainly beat his childhood birthdays, which weren’t really acknowledged beyond a paltry present, if at all. Once he had been given a pair of shoelaces which he imagined that Aunt Petunia had simply dug out of a drawer minutes before handing them to him. Once he was given a small glass jar. It didn't even have a lid. 

He certainly didn't get out of doing chores or get seconds for dinner.

‘Pretty cool?’ Tom asked.

‘Swell.’ Harry said. ‘I meant swell.’ 

‘I’ve never met anyone who speaks like you.’

‘I’m a wizard.’ Harry defended, knowing full well wizards in the 1930’s did not use “cool” the same way as he did. ‘Anyway, you don’t really do chores anymore-’ Merlin, he should probably make Tom do some chores, he didn’t want him growing up entitled, ‘and you’re welcome to seconds whenever you want them, unless you become very fat, which is unlikely to happen. Hence, we should do something else special.’

‘Teach me magic. You said you would when I turned eight.’

‘If that’s what you want to do.’

Harry tried his best not to think about Grindelwald. It had been a few days since he had spoken with Fawley, and the wizard still hadn’t reached out to him. Maybe he didn’t organise the dueling competition at all, and the ministry was just paranoid. He knew how incompetent they could be.

Tom’s birthday came quickly, and Harry served him pancakes for breakfast, with whipped cream and berries. 

'Happy Birthday!' Harry said, placing the plate in front of him.

‘Thank you, Harry.’ Tom said quietly. Sometimes Tom seemed like the sweetest, politest boy in the world. 

‘You’re eight now, how does it feel?’

Tom prodded at his pancakes.

‘Much the same as seven.’

‘You don’t feel older and wiser?’ Harry teased.

‘I’m always getting older and wiser.’ Tom remarked gravely. ‘I would become even more wise if I learned spells.’

‘Okay. I’m going to let you use my wand-’ Tom straightened up, ‘- _but,_ you have to be _very_ careful and controlled. And don’t feel bad if you don't get things on the first try- most children don’t start learning spells until they’re eleven.’ 

Tom nodded frantically. He pushed his pancakes to the side, seemingly forgotten after a few bites. 

‘Give it to me.’ he commanded.

‘What’s the magic word?’ Harry replied. Tom seemed stumped.

‘I thought you were going to tell me that.’ 

Harry laughed.

‘I mean, ask politely, Tom. Manners are important.’

‘Please, may I have your wand, Harry?’ Tom simpered.

‘You certainly may.’ Harry handed it to the boy, feeling naked without it in his pocket or hand. When Tom held it, he sighed pleasantly. 

‘It feels… right.’

_I remember every wand I’ve ever sold, Mr. Potter. Every single one. It so happens that the phoenix whose tail feather is in your wand, gave another feather - just one other-_

‘We’re going to start with the simplest spell I know, the wand-lighting charm. Now, I want you to focus on what you want the wand to do. You want it to produce light. Hold that thought in your mind, imagine you’re channeling your magic into it, and say Lumos.’

‘Lumos.’ Tom said. The wand did nothing. ‘Lumos.’ He tried again, saying it more strongly. ‘Lumos, Lumos, Lumos! LUMOS-’ The wand began shaking but didn’t create light.

‘Stop! You can’t force it. You have to make the wand want to do it. Be gentle.’

Tom nodded, and breathed in.

‘Lumos.’ he said, and it lit up, as easy as a sigh. Tom looked awed at the shining tip of his wand, observing it from different angles. ‘Harry, can I try the spells I learned in my book?’

‘Which book?’

‘101 Spells Every First Year Should Know.’ Tom recited. Harry raised an eyebrow.

‘Which would you like to try? I certainly hope you won’t try to hex me.’

‘The summoning charm.’

‘Accio? Very useful, certainly helped me in a lot of very sticky situations. It’s more advanced than Lumos, so it may take some time to do.’

Harry was right. Tom tried Accio pot, Accio blanket, Accio book, Accio Leviathan, to no avail. 

‘I didn’t learn this charm until I was fourteen Tom, don’t feel bad.’ Harry consoled.

‘Accio Harry!’

Harry jokingly rushed towards him, but stopped short. Tom had closed his eyes, and his arms had lifted slightly, like he was unconsciously expecting a hug. He opened his eyes and promptly dropped his shoulders. Harry smiled, and pulled him into his arms. 

‘Happy birthday Tom.’ Tom tensed, then melted into his touch.

‘You already said that.’ he murmured into Harry’s shoulder.

He held him tighter, and wondered if Tom had never been hugged.

They spent their day playing in the snow and warming themselves by the fire. At first, Tom had been reluctant to go outside, and he point blank refused to make a snow angel even with Harry’s enthusiastic demonstration. However, after Harry threw the first snowball at him while his back was turned, Tom’s vengeful side was activated. Harry was mercilessly pelted with snow, and with dirty little tricks. He had it shoved down the back of his coat, smushed in his hair, the whole nine yards.

‘I forfeit!’ He shouted breathlessly, ‘I give up, you are the crown winner of snowball fights!’

Tom cackled, before quickly turning it into a more normal laugh. 

Harry grinned, ‘I didn’t expect you to be such a beast at snowball fighting- with a throw like that, you should be a chaser! And with dirty tricks like that- you should be in the Slytherin team!’

Harry felt light and springy, felt like a child again. Like he was eleven years old and the whole world had just opened up to him.

'Oi Tom- I feel bad, I should get you a real birthday present- I'll take you to the bookshop tomorrow for a late one.'

'How many galleons of books?' Tom asked.

'Uh... six?' Harry replied.

Tom grinned, face flushed with cold.

'That's so many books!' he exclaimed.

* * *

It was the dead of night in the new year. Harry was fast asleep, his wand left on his bedside table. Tom took it, pulled on his shoes, and ran out into the fields. 

‘Accio rock.’ He whispered. ‘Accio rock.’ He closed his eyes, felt the cold wind, the thrum of everything around him. ‘Accio rock.’ and it flew toward him. Tom caught it with his left hand and grinned, fiercely and unreservedly, as he would do only in the dark. He practiced that for a while, summoning sticks, more rocks, clumps of earth. The half moon illuminated the grassy plains. It smelled like earth and wind and heady magic.

Tom spied a rabbit about fifty yards away. Time to try something new.

‘Wingardium Leviosa.’ He whispered, flicking his wrist the way it indicated on the diagram. To his astonishment, and the rabbit’s, it rose, and kept rising. Tom didn’t know how to stop it, would it keep going until it reached the moon? He started to panic, he had to let the rabbit down. ‘Stop.’ He whispered, ‘fall.’ and the rabbit did. With a thud.

It didn’t run away.

Tom approached it. It was bleeding, twitching, alive but unable to move. It had fallen onto its back. 

It was an easy decision to crush its skull underfoot.

Tom began to walk back to the cottage.

A man appeared, having come from out of nowhere. 

Tom immediately started running, not even thinking about it. He couldn’t let the man see his face! Then he’d know Tom was a _twisted_ child that killed rabbits, even though this was a mercy killing, and he’d tell Harry, and he'd know Tom wasn't really a kind child, that he didn't _really_ care about people or other children or rabbits or-

Some sort of force stopped him, stuck him into place. 

He had _seen!_ He had seen him kill it, _and he’d tell Harry, and Harry would know-_

The man, whom Tom could barely make out the shape of in the dark, picked up the rabbit, and proceeded to promptly and clinically cut off its foot. A slicing motion with his wand and it came off clean, no spurt of blood, no crack of bone.

He pried open Tom’s frozen hand, and placed the foot into it. Tom quickly realised that the man thinking _he_ was a freak was the least of his worries.

His voice was strange when he spoke, his accent foreign, clacking over consonants.

‘A rabbit foot... is very good luck, you know.’ Tom could hear his smile. He felt real fear, knew instinctively that this was true danger, more real than big kids trying to hit him, more real than an empty belly.

He was released, and he sprinted, as hard as he could, back to the house, back to where it was safe, the rabbit foot held tightly in his fist and his blood pounding in his ears. 


	12. Quidditch (1)

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I'm back

Harry was in the air, the world whooshing by for the first time in too long.

He whooped, and swooped, and shot up and down, spinning and flipping and skimming the grass. Finally he landed, wiping off a thin layer of sweat.

‘Sorry, haven’t been on a broom for a while. Got carried away. What model is this?’ Harry asked politely. It was nowhere near as fast as the brooms Harry was used to, but quicker than he had expected. Ron’s Shooting Star was slower than this, and he thought that had been made in the sixties. 

Mikolik stared at Harry with open mouthed shock.

‘MERLIN! YOU SAID YOU WERE “QUITE GOOD” NOT A _PROFESSIONAL PLAYER!’_ Mikolik screeched. Harry blinked. 

‘I played in the school team?’ He replied.

He had spoken with the Minister, and official (British, not American) records regarding his existence had been created. It said he had attended Ilvermorny, just as he had claimed. He wasn’t sure they had very much Quidditch over there, but Mikolik didn’t seem to know anything about the states.

Mikolik breathed in and grinned.

‘We’re going to win the local championships for sure!’ His eyes shone with delight. Harry was reminded of Oliver Wood. 

Mikolik gushed to Harry about his superb control of the broomstick, saying he swore he had never seen it go that fast. He explained that it was just a Cleansweep 1, with some modifications added.

‘Oh some runes here, some charms there, the works.’

Harry raised his eyebrows.

‘If you can make brooms faster with these modifications, why don’t the companies do them?’

Mikolik smiled lightly.

‘There’s a _very_ small, minute even, possibility that the modified brooms _might_ explode. At uh, any time. Therefore companies leave it up to individuals to decide whether or not they are going to take that risk.’ 

‘You should have told _me_ about it before _I_ took that risk! Oh Merlin, there aren’t modifications on the children's brooms, are there?’ Harry said, eyes catching onto Tom who was moving in slow unsteady circles on his broom.

‘Circe no! Only the adults- and It isn’t a fatal explosion! Mostly.’ 

Harry groaned. 

A stone's throw from them, Tom was wobbling in the air, a few feet off the ground, gripping his broomstick and staring fiercely. He landed softly and strode over.

‘That's dangerous!’ He said, ‘Harry can’t fly on a broomstick that could kill him!.’

‘I can survive all manner of things, Tom.’ Harry said cheekily, ‘once, there was this dragon-’

‘Oh hoh!’ Mikolik interrupted, ‘don’t believe the boasts of your father, he’s spinning tales of grandeur like all men do.’ 

‘You’re quite right Mikolik, I’ll begin again- _twice,_ there was this dragon-’ 

Mikolik burst into laughter.

‘This isn’t a joke!’ Tom hissed, voice on the silvered edge of parseltongue.

Then everything happened at once.

The wind picked up, and Harry’s scar began to _burn._

Mikolik coughed. Blood. He raised his hand to his mouth, touching the blood and staring at it bug-eyed. 

‘Tom,’ Harry said, blinking away the shadow of a tear. His scar was white hot. ‘I’ll wear a protective charm next time I go on. I swear. Please calm down. I’ll wear a protective charm, there's no chance that I’ll die.’

The wind died down. Tom’s shoulders slumped.

‘You promise?’ Tom said, voice too gravelly for a child. ‘You swear?’

‘I swear.’ Harry said firmly. ‘I have to talk with Mikolik now, please go back to practicing with Solaris.’ 

There was a full five seconds before Tom nodded slowly, and backed away.

‘The chance is so supremely low, I swear.’ Mikolik said, dabbing at his mouth with a handkerchief, ‘not once has any of our brooms exploded during a game. There was one in the shed a few years back, but… to be honest I almost forgot about the risk. I’m sorry Harry. You and Tom were right, I should have told you.’ Mikolik said.

Harry dismissed this with a wave of his hand. 

‘Enough of that- are you alright? Are you hurt? I’m so sorry about that- Tom has been through a lot in his life and you know how accidental magic can manifest, he didn’t mean to do it I swear-’

‘Harry. I didn’t think.’ Interrupted Mikolik, ‘I seldom do. Tom clearly cares very deeply about you, and his reaction was understandable. He’s obviously a very magically powerful child, and they can’t... control these sorts of things. In fact, once _Solaris-_ well, anyway.’

Harry sighed.

‘Thank you for being so understanding. You should get yourself checked out by a mediwitch, there could be hidden damages.’ 

‘I’ll have Aurora perform an assessment, she has some training. If after all that, you’d still like to join the team, we practice Tuesday evenings and Saturday afternoons, on this very field.’ Mikolik said.

‘If after all that, you’ll have me.’ Harry replied. Mikolik quickly puffed up.

‘I’ve half a mind to believe you’re a glamoured Roderick Plumpton! They way you move on that broom, I’ve never seen anything like it outside of an international game!’

‘You flatter me.’ Harry said, glancing over at Tom with a sick feeling in his chest.

_You blew up your aunt, don’t forget you blew up your aunt._

* * *

‘Hey, Tom?’ Harry said.

Tom turned around.

‘Yes?’ He replied resignedly. 

Harry took a deep breath.

‘I know that it’s difficult to control accidental magic, at this age, however I am concerned about the nature of your outburst.’

Tom’s face was pinched. He nodded.

‘You were angered out of fear for my safety?’ Harry asked.

Tom was silent for a long moment.

‘Yes.’ He muttered, like he could scarcely believe it himself, ‘yes I was.’

‘I understand that I’m the provider of an improved life for you, and it’s understandable you would be attached to that. But I wasn’t in any danger. Not really.’

‘What if the broom exploded?’ Tom questioned, ‘what if you blew into a hundred pieces because _Mikolik_ doesn’t care if you’re safe?’ 

‘It was an error in his judgement. But keep in mind that the broom exploding was beyond unlikely.’

‘Then you understand why I was angry- because he was _careless.’_

‘I understand why, and I don’t blame you for this, Tom.’

Tom stiffened.

‘You don’t?’ 

‘I’ve… had my fair share of accidental magic hiccups. When I was younger.’

_Releasing a deadly snake on a boy wasn't the best move._

Harry recollected his thoughts, ‘so I _know_ that it can be impossible to control.’ Harry regarded Tom. ‘This... _was_ accidental magic, right?’

‘Yes.’ Tom replied, ‘it just- it just happened. I didn’t do it on purpose, I swear!’

‘Okay.’ Harry said. ‘Okay, I believe you.’

* * *

So Harry and Tom arrived at the bookshop for Tom’s belated birthday gift.

He was growing rather fond of the place. Harry should get a loyalty card- did they do those in the thirties?

Tom immediately flitted off into the mess of shelving.

‘Back again, eh? Your son is quite the voracious reader.’ remarked the shop owner.

‘Yeah, he is.’ Harry replied. He aimlessly wandered through the shop, scanning the titles. He decided to pick up a couple books on Occlumency, to refresh his understanding of the theory. He really needed to sharpen his skills as an Occlumens, and there was no way in hell he’d hire anyone to teach him, or they’d run out of the session yelling about the moon landing.

He resigned himself to wait for Tom to gather six full Galleons worth of books. It was about an hour later that Tom tapped him on the shoulder.

‘I made a pile.’ He said, and tugged Harry along to it.

Lo and behold, he had. Two stacks in fact, since the quantity of books meant a single stack would have been structurally unsound. It was more than a boy of eight could hope to carry. 

_‘Wingardium Leviosa.’_ Harry said, sweeping the books into the air with a flick of his wrist. They resembled a school of fish, bobbing up and down as they floated behind him, following him to the front of the shop. 

Harry stacked them (somewhat) neatly on the counter, letting them drift down gently.

The shopkeeper grinned.

‘Building a library?’ he asked. Harry thought about the singular bookcase in Tom’s room. It was going to fill rather quickly.

‘At this rate…’ Harry replied. The books Tom had selected varied greatly from each other, it seemed as though he plucked them from every section in the store. He saw ones about magical creatures, about maths, about essay writing, about enchantment- he even saw one about the stock market. Tom had a real thirst for knowledge, and wanted to amass as much information as possible, not just about an unfamiliar world, but about everything. Harry thought of a little bushy haired Hermione and grinned. It was truly admirable, most eight year olds hadn’t the attention span to do a puzzle, and little Tom was going to read dry texts about wizard stocks. 

Harry (gently) shoved all of the books into a bag fitted with an extension charm. He picked it up before they went to the bookshop, knowing they would need it. Bloody expensive though, at ten Galleons in 1935. According to the shop owner, you had to pay to get it registered by the Ministry, and the spellwork was a tricky bit of ritual requiring some rare ingredients. Harry finally placed his own two books about Occlumency inside, and they left the shop with the jingle of a bell behind them, and the owner yelling “come again!”.

‘Now.’ he said, ‘how about getting your own broomstick?’


	13. Quidditch (2)

‘We’re off to the broomstick shop now,’ Harry informed Tom, quietly excited. ‘I need a new broom, and you’ll need one too.’ Quality Quidditch Supplies stood in the same place it had in the 2000’s. So many of these businesses had been around for so long. They entered.

He breathed in the scents of different woods, the rich smell of broom oil.

‘Hullo sir, how can I help you today?’ asked a fresh faced young man, smiling widely.

‘Hi, I’m looking to buy a couple brooms, one for me and one for my ward.’ Harry said, ‘what would you recommend?’ he asked.

‘Well, that all depends on your budget! We stock everything from Silver Arrows to the latest Cleansweeps!’ He replied cheerfully. 

Right. Harry was in a time where Cleansweeps were the pinnacle of broomstick design. Oh brother. 

‘What’s the fastest broom you have?’ Harry asked.

‘That would be the Cleansweep Two, the latest model- but it does have a price-tag of five Galleons! It’s the broom preferred by professionals.’

‘We’ll take two of those.’ Harry said.

‘If I could make a recommendation sir, the Comet 140 may be better for your son as it’s easier to control if he lacks Quidditch experience, though it is a bit slower than the Cleansweep.’ 

‘No.’ Tom said before Harry could say anything. ‘I want the faster broom, I’ll learn to control it.’ 

Harry nodded.

‘Fair enough.’ 

After having those wrapped up, Harry spent far too long lingering in the shop, purchasing bristle covers and broomstick grips and polishing oils. He was in the process of smelling each bottle of polishing oil in search of the one that smelled most similar to his sandalwood one in the future, when somebody came up behind him and subtly and firmly squeezed his buttocks underneath his robes. Tom was a witness to this act and his eyes became as wide as saucers.

‘Pardon?’ Harry uttered, turning around to face a mortified, and familiar looking woman. 

‘OH MERLIN! I am _so_ sorry, I thought you were my husband, oh goodness gracious, that was _simply awful and crude of me my deepest apologies-_ you have hair just the same as his and from behind you’re _indistinguishable_ -’

‘Euphemia?’ a man approached them, ‘whatever is the matter? is this man bothering you?’ 

Wait. Euphemia... _Potter._ His _Grandmother._ Of course. Her’s was a face he’d seen in old family photos. Then the man must be...

‘Oh Fleamont! I’m afraid it’s quite the reverse- _I_ bothered _him._ You see, from behind, he looks just like you!’ 

Harry couldn’t believe that his _Grandmother_ who had died before he was born had gone up to him in _Quality Quidditch Supplies_ and _grabbed his arse._

He burst into laughter, quashing his horror.

‘That’s quite alright ma’am, I _was_ rather confused, but I see now that it was an honest mistake.’

Fleamont raised an eyebrow.

‘Euphemia, what exactly did you _do_ to this poor man?’ he inquired.

‘Nothing I can discuss in public.’ she muttered, flushing.

‘Oh Circe.’ Fleamont groaned, ‘My name is Fleamont Potter, this is my wife, Euphemia. My apologies for her behaviour.’

‘I’m Harry Evans. It’s a, ah, pleasure to make your acquaintance.’ Harry said.

‘The same Harry Evans that won that dueling championship?’ he asked.

‘I had no idea the championship got this much attention.’ Harry said.

Fleamont shrugged.

‘It was a big story, the press is desperate to report on things other than Grindelwald. Readers are sick of it.’

He looked closely at Harry, ‘you know, you certainly do have Potter hair. Any relation?’

‘None I know of.’ Harry fibbed.

‘Strange. There are tests, you know-’

‘I’m pretty certain I’m not related to the Potters.’ Harry said firmly. ‘Anyway, though it was, _interesting_ meeting you two, my ward and I must be going now.’

‘Again I say, I am so very sorry.’ Euphemia uttered. 

Harry waved his hand unconcernedly.

‘Don’t worry about it.’

‘Yes, my love, I’m sure Mr. Evans didn’t mind one bit,’ Fleamont commented, ‘for a lady as lovely as yourself-’

‘Flea! Be quiet!’

He quickly bought some polishing oil which smelled of cedar, and he and Tom left the shop.

‘ _Are_ you related to them?’ Tom asked.

‘Dunno. Probably not.’ Harry lied.

‘Don’t you want to find out?’ Tom said, ‘they looked rich.’

Harry chuckled.

‘They _are_ rich. Fleamont Potter invented Sleekeazy’s hair potion, which can tame even the most unruly locks. He didn’t seem to be wearing any today though.’

‘You should get some of that, your hair is a mess.’ Tom said.

‘I rather like my hair, I’ll have you know.’ Harry teased, ‘It adds character.’

‘It adds untidiness. If anyone had their hair like that at school, they’d have their wrist slapped.’ 

‘Well luckily for me, I’m an adult, and if anyone tried to slap my wrist I’d hit them with a bat-bogey hex.’

This spiraled into a detailed explanation of the bat-bogey hex, which caused Tom to adopt an increasingly horrified expression.

They wandered down the streets of Diagon Alley.

‘Alright, for school you need four workbooks, three ink pens, a set of pencils, a protractor-’

‘HARRY EVANS! We meet again!’ Exclaimed-

Oh, this guy again.

‘Ah. Tobias… Grantiden was it?’

‘Grüneaugen.’ He corrected.

Tom stared intensely at the man, having stilled completely. Harry's eyes flicked back to Tobias.

‘Well, it was nice to run into you again, but-’

‘The Deathly Hallows.’ Tobias said casually. ‘You’re involved with them somehow, aren’t you?’ 

‘Er.’ Harry uttered. ‘Pardon? Awfully sorry Tobias, but we must be going-’ Harry realised suddenly that Diagon Alley was silent. That he saw people in the crowd move their mouths but he couldn’t hear any of them. 

‘Harry Evans. You’re coming with me.’

‘Are you from the Ministry?’ Harry snarled.

‘Try again!’ Tobias replied, in a sing-song voice.

‘You’re one of Grindelwald’s people, aren’t you?’

Tobias chuckled, and slipped his hand into his robe pocket, Harry copied his movement, fingers clasping around his wand. 

Harry moved into a fighting stance. Tobias slid half his wand out, and Harry blinked twice. 

Was that…?

‘I see you recognise it. How strange, considering my hold of it for a decade. It isn’t impossible, I suppose, that you are older than you look.’ 

‘Grindelwald.’ Harry hissed.

Tobias shrugged. 

Tom’s eyes were flicking from Harry to Grindelwald and back. 

Harry took full hold of his wand, and pointed it toward Grindelwald. People moved around them as if they were invisible. Maybe they were.

 _‘Really?’_ Grindelwald said. ‘There are a few reasons why this is an _idiotic_ idea. Firstly, I have the _Elder Wand._ Secondly, I am a superior duelist to you, and thirdly- this is a busy street, who can say,’ He locked eyes with Tom, ‘who would be caught in the crossfire. Now, come with me peacefully, and I promise not to kill you unless you make me.’

‘Shit.’ Harry hissed, ‘Fuck.’ 

‘You should mind your profanity in front of the child.’ Grindelwald extended his hand to Harry. ‘We must be off. Much to discuss.’ 

Harry flicked his eyes around. He would have probably fought and died, if he hadn’t a child to protect. He sighed deeply, and took Tom’s hand.

Then he took Grindelwald’s.

And they were gone.


	14. Grindelwald (1)

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> posts another chapter as soon as its done because has no impulse control  
> 20,000 word celebRATION

Harry Evans was quite the puzzle. 

Gellert had searched high and low, consulted every relevant contact. He had investigated for weeks and turned up nothing. He couldn’t find anyone who fit Harry’s description, no young powerful wizards with wild hair and wilder eyes that had suddenly vanished.

The man was a ghost.

Gellert thumbed his lip, eyeing him.

His magic felt bright and pure and _sharp._ But there was something else, lurking beneath it. Something dark, something _raw._

What _was_ a wizard of his caliber running from? 

And the child, _risky_ to keep a child while hiding. There was no evidence that Harry Evans knew Tom Riddle prior to his adoption of him on December tenth. But there was also no evidence of Harry’s existence before December, so who could say? 

Tom Riddle. A strange boy, a boy who killed rabbits. Spoke to snakes in pet shops. Whose name struck fear into the people who raised him.

Gellert couldn’t help but be reminded of himself, of the beatings he had gotten when he explained he cut open that rat to observe its insides. He remembered the live animal’s still beating heart. And she had always _wanted_ him to exterminate vermin.

_NOT LIKE THAT GELLERT NOT LIKE THAT-_

Quite the puzzle indeed.

* * *

They appeared in an ornate room. Harry spied rolling hills out of an elegant window, and the air smelled of perfume. He held Tom’s hand tightly. The boy was pale as a sheet, but stared at Grindelwald defiantly.

‘Harry.’ Tom said, ‘why is he after you?’ He knew exactly who this was. Harry could never stop him reading the gory stories of Grindelwald’s massacres.

‘Hush now Tom.’ Harry said, ‘quiet for the moment.’ He never told Tom what happened with Minister Fawley, as he considered it the business of adults. He didn’t want to place the burden of that knowledge on a child. He thought he’d be safer not knowing. 

He was hardly safe now.

‘Dissimor.’ Grindelwald said.

Tobias Grüneaugen’s face melted away, and underneath it was the man Harry had seen on the cover of every prophet.

Grindelwald worked his jaw, and smacked his lips together as though he was getting used to having his own again.

‘The glamour charm is a real bit of work.’ he began casually, as if they were having a friendly chat. ‘Not as good as polyjuice, you have to maintain it. But I’ve always been good at focusing on multiple things, and I do enjoy making my own face rather than stealing someone else's.’ He blinked twice, and crinkled his nose.

‘Where have you taken us?’ Harry demanded.

‘France. To be specific, the Avery Estate. Do you know why I’ve brought you here?’

‘To introduce me to a selection of french cheeses?’ Harry snarked. 

Why did _this_ have to be his defense mechanism? 

Grindelwald laughed.

‘Perhaps another day. As you may have suspected, I organised the dueling competition, hoping to spot competent wizards.’

‘So do you want me to work for you?’ Harry asked bluntly.

‘Mhm. Yes and no.’ Grindelwald moved into a stage whisper, ‘between you and me, I have more eyes in the Ministry than an Acromantula has on its head.’

‘So at least nine.’ Harry drawled.

‘Fawley recruited you- rather against your will, I hear. He’s an awful man, that Fawley. His only virtue is his incompetence, and that's only a virtue in that it serves me. I’d like you to feed Fawley false information, littered with enough truth that you seem trustworthy. Be a “double agent” just as he wants, but have your loyalties lie with _me.’_

‘And why should I? I hardly feel endeared to you.’ Harry said.

‘They threatened you with a fate worse than death if you refused to yield to their demands.’ Grindelwald said. Tom inhaled fearfully, and his eyes flicked over to Harry, filled with questions.

‘And what do you threaten me with, a fate roughly equivalent to death?’ Harry retorted. Tom clutched him, hiding his face. Harry pulled him close.

‘Oh hoh! You’re _fiery,_ Mr. Evans. You’re a powerful wizard. One of the most powerful I’ve seen.’ Grindelwald moved closer to them. ‘Don't you want to use that power to change our world?’ He asked, and his voice, though quiet, boomed with the savour of a rousing speech, one in front of a roaring crowd.

‘I don’t _want_ your world.’ Harry said. ‘I’m not the same as you- I don’t think we’re any better than muggles. Magic _isn’t_ what makes a person.’ Grindelwald scoffed.

‘Your naivete would be charming if it weren’t so sickening.’ He said, ‘I knew that you were an acquaintance of Albus, his ideology drips off you like sweat. Albus builds his beliefs on spite, not conviction. He wants only to be contrary to _me._ You’d do well to consider that.’

‘You’d do well not to _assume_ I follow blindly.’ Harry retorted, ‘I’m familiar with the muggle world. They aren’t so different from us.’ 

‘Not as familiar as I am, then.’ Grindelwald dismissed. ‘Have you been paying attention? They had the greatest war in history, how many died for pride, for land?’

‘And we don’t war?’ Harry asked. ‘How can you, of all people, make that argument?’

‘Not like this.’ Grindelwald said darkly. ‘More war approaches, _endless war._ They’re developing bombs that can _level cities._ Muggles aren’t like us, they cannot deal with that level of power, the responsibility that comes with it. They will destroy the _entire world._ I can save us. But there are things that I need to do for _the_ -’

Harry laughed hollowly, cutting him off.

‘For the greater good?’ he mocked.

‘For the _Greater Good.’_ Grindelwald echoed reverently.

‘That is _not_ how this story ends,’ Harry hissed, _‘Trust me.’_

Grindelwald stepped closer again, and Harry stepped back, holding Tom tightly. Grindelwald’s eyes glowed. His grin was feral. There was something deeply _wrong_ with this man, something twisted in his very essence. 

‘I wonder.’ He mused, tapping his lip, head cocked, ‘why you sound so very _sure.’_

* * *

As he had approached Harry Evans, The Elder Wand had warmed and begun vibrating, buzzing with magical energy. They were a few feet apart and the wand felt nearly hot enough to burn his thigh. Harry didn’t react, didn’t seem to feel anything. Didn’t know of the great advantage Gellert had lost. 

The wand had refused to obey Gellert since the first of December, the first day anyone had seen anything of “Harry Evans”. He had been talking to Albus. Some distant part of him wondered if he was his lover.

The wand had been cold and inert for the past month, and Gellert missed its raw, bleeding power, the way it sung the notes of his magic and the ease with which he could reshape reality. It infuriated him that the wand had come to life again, and that it wasn’t for him.

_What connection does Harry Evans have with the Deathly Hallows?_

Was the man in front of him even human? Was he… involved with _them,_ somehow? He certainly didn’t act like it.

Gellert wanted to observe Harry, wanted to discover exactly what was brewing beneath his skin. Wanted to cut him open like a _rat_. The tickling fingers of curiosity pittered and pattered down his spine and he thirsted to understand.

The wand was beginning to cook his flesh. 

Harry Evans was the reason he had lost control of the Deathstick, this was certain. He felt the wand and knew that it recognized Evans as its master. For what reason, he couldn’t say. Evans never took the wand, never defeated him, didn’t even know it’s allegiance had changed. There were factors at play here beyond Gellert’s knowledge, likely beyond Evans’. Killing him might return Gellert’s power, but if it didn’t… What then? Gellert was cautious and calculating by nature, it was how he had survived this long with the world biting at his heels.

The best thing he could do was to turn Evans away from Dumbledore, to his side, and figure out his next moves from there. Gather information. It seemed as though this would have to be by force.

Evans eyed him, and Gellert stepped closer once again, pressed the man and his trembling child against the wall. He lightly pushed the hair out of Evan’s face. A lightning bolt.

_A curse scar._

_Could this be part of it?_

‘This is a _very_ interesting scar. How did you come by it?’ Gellert asked pleasantly.

‘Don’t touch me.’ Evans spat.

Gellert laughed merrily. 

‘Harry Evans.’ His eyes glittered dangerously, _‘I will own you.’_

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> so yeah 👉👈 finally Grindelwald confronts our main man. :))) just as an fyi im not gonna be sticking to fantastic beasts canon.


	15. Grindelwald (2)

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> this chapter has gone through incredible amounts of revision, it scarcely has any of the original draft left. It was really hard to get this one out. I've had this drafted for ages and it just felt wrong and shit for so long. Now i havent got any idea what it is but i think its ok? ive read it too many times to actually perceive it teehhe.  
> fun pov switching! tried to make it quickly obvious which pov ur reading without spoonfeeding y'all too hard, hope it worked.  
> bruh r there any tags i need to add bc i genuinely dont even know

Tom watched the man throw his head back and laugh. Watched him, and a sick feeling pooled in his stomach. 

‘Harry Evans.’ The rabbit man said, voice dark and thick.  _ ‘I will own you.’ _

_ What? _

How  _ dare  _ he-

Harry pushed the man off of them.

‘Tell me what you want from me so that we can leave.’ He said curtly. The rabbit man stepped back, smile clinging to his lips.

‘Ah, I want you to make an Unbreakable Vow.’ He said casually. ‘AVERY!’ 

An old man pottered into the room, and the rabbit man spoke to him in quick-fire french. The old man nodded.

An Unbreakable Vow. Tom had read about those. If it was broken Harry would be instantly dead. Tom grew taut, he hated it,  _ hated it.  _

‘A coerced vow seems unethical.’ Harry said.

‘It will be a fair one. I’ll have my demands and I’ll allow you yours.’

‘You want me to commit treason.’ said Harry.

‘And I imagine you want me to leave your boy alone.’

‘Don’t you fucking  _ dare _ go anywhere  _ near _ Tom-’ Harry swept Tom up into his arms and held his head over his shoulder. 

The rage, the ferocity- Harry cared about Tom, truly, this proved it, finally proved it.

Would you lay your life down for me? Tom thought, gleefully. Then he realised, quickly and suddenly he  _ didn't want him to.  _

It was a rush, a strange power to be loved. He was loved, wasn’t he? This was love, wasn’t it?

‘A parselmouth.’ The rabbit man said, ‘He could be a great asset- imagine an _ army _ of basilisks, hatched under toads, commanded by a boy.’ he smiled beastily. 

‘Don’t be ridiculous.’ Harry replied, ‘Basilisks take a hundred years to mature.’

‘I didn’t know you were an expert on Basilisks.’ The rabbit man said. ‘I suppose you  _ did  _ adopt the last Gaunt heir. And what were your purposes behind that? Utterly noble, I assume.’

The rabbit man knew all about him, about his family. 

Was he right? Did Harry have ulterior motives for adopting Tom?

_ No…  _ Harry loved him. Harry wanted to protect him. Harry pushed away all the gloom and despair of the world and bathed Tom in a light he could scarcely believe in. 

Harry filled Tom with the hope he could really exist, and not just pretend to. 

* * *

Harry hugged Tom tighter. For all the doubt Harry had felt, he knew that Tom was truly his child now.

‘I don’t want the boy here for the vow.’ Grindelwald said. ‘He’ll wait outside. Worry not, Tom, Harry will follow when we are done. Jakob, take him.’ 

‘No way in hell am I letting Tom out of my sight.’ Harry said, fists clenching. ‘No way in  _ fucking hell.’  _

‘You speak like the most vulgar of muggles.’ Grindelwald noted. ‘I don’t know why you have the notion you hold any power here. Rest assured I won’t harm the boy, whatever impression your little newspapers may have given you of me. I would never hurt a child without good cause, you need only avoid  _ giving me good cause.’  _

‘You would be surprised by exactly how much  _ power  _ I have,  _ Grindelwald.’  _ Harry seethed, ‘If it weren’t for you threatening my  _ child then I’d have half a mind to-’ _

Tom grabbed Harry with pleading eyes. A voice sounded in his mind,  _ Tom’s voice.  _ Little whispers clawed through his skull.

_ I’ll be okay, Harry. Let me go, it will be okay.  _

Harry blinked. Maybe the adrenaline had pushed Tom to legilimency. Many were capable of magic they did not know with sufficient stress. 

Tom was right, playing along was the best move. The safest option for him and Tom. He pushed his mind into Tom’s, the channel already opened. 

_ You’re the bravest boy I’ve ever known. I’m so proud of you, Tom. I’ll be there soon, I swear, I’ll be there soon. _

Harry’s eyes were wet.

‘Take him then.’ Harry uttered. He turned to Grindelwald’s lackey, and spat, ‘If you do  _ anything,  _ if anything happens to  _ my boy,  _ I will find you and I will  _ rend the flesh _ from your every limb and  _ leave you for the wolves.’  _

Jakob regarded him with an arched brow. He seemed mildly impressed at Harry’s venom. Harry spun on his heel, ‘and  _ you-’ _

‘Yes, yes, I understand.’ Grindelwald said, ‘I know too well to fear a man with nothing to live for. Rest assured you won’t become one.’

* * *

The man had taken Tom to the hall. He didn’t say anything.

It had been forever. Tom checked the clock, ticking away on the wall. It had been a half-hour.

Tom hated not understanding, and he hated the piercing, ugly feeling in his chest. 

The rabbit man, Tobias Grüneaugen, _Grindelwald._ He had Harry trapped right now. Would Harry yield to his demands- would Harry try and fight him? Tom didn’t know which was more likely, Harry was an idiot, after all. He closed his eyes and listened for the sounds of spellfire.

But he cared for Tom, didn’t he? That's why Tom was here, with this man. He was a bargaining chip, able to be killed at any moment.

Jakob’s eyes were cold. Tom had demanded information from him, in the first few minutes. But the man was silent, and Tom let his ragged voice rest. 

Tom couldn’t help but keep imagining Harry dead. He’d seen dead bodies before. 

Harry dead, crumpled like a bird on the forest floor. Pale.

Harry was too brave, too reckless. Tom was right to steer him toward compromise. But now… Harry was going to be trapped in an agreement with the vile man. Grindelwald could make him do anything to save Tom’s life. What if what Grindelwald asked was too much? Then Tom and Harry would both die. Tom felt sick.

He resigned himself to wait.

Finally, the door opened to the hall.

Harry looked exhausted, hollowed out, but he was fully and wholly and  _ wonderfully  _ alive. Tom scarcely noticed the thick, terrifying miasma of Grindelwald’s presence because everything in him could only feel Harry. When Harry was near him, something clicked into place, and Tom was  _ unbelievably  _ whole.

Before Tom even thought about it he ran to him, clutched his arms around his waist and buried his head into his robes. He squeezed him, terrified he would vanish. 

Harry was warm, _ so, so, warm. _ And he smelled like the earth and wood and laundry soap and  _ home. _

‘Shhh, shhh, It’s okay Tom, I’m here, you’re okay, I’m okay, shhh.’ Harry soothed, stroking Tom’s hair.

He was shivering. Some foreign feeling had overtaken him. 

He was attached to Harry. He remembered the way that Mrs. Cole had been kind to him, when he was younger. Before she knew he was a freak, a freak for _ more _ than just his abilities. 

But he was older now, he could hide it better. Harry didn’t have to know, Harry would never stop being kind to him. Harry would be kind to him forever.

‘Oh my boy… my sweet, sweet boy.’ Harry held him impossibly tighter.

Tom locked eyes with Grindelwald and sneered. He wanted to cower, instinctively wanted to look away, but he kept staring into those manic, mismatched eyes, defiant.

Grindelwald just smiled.

Tom knew that it wouldn’t be now. He knew he was weak, he was young. But someday, he would be strong, and he would tear Grindelwald  _ to shreds. Tear him apart for ever touching Harry.  _

Tom looked at the man and imagined him broken beneath him. Dead like a rabbit.

Grindelwald regarded their embrace.

‘Touching, truly. Harry, I trust you won’t tell Tom anything about this?’ 

‘What?’ Harry asked, ‘But you already-’

_ ‘Obliviate.’  _

* * *

Tom was unconscious. He would wake, knowing nothing of what had happened. Grindelwald left, hours ago. 

This was why Grindelwald couldn’t have Tom witness the vow, the magic binding Tom to be a secondary witness might override memory removal. Harry opened a drawer, and took out a small notebook with trembling hands. 

He couldn’t believe what Grindelwald had had him agree to. 

He had three years, three years to  _ somehow  _ sort this out.

Harry knew he wouldn’t be able to do it.

In three years, he would be dead.

_ Dead. Dead. Dead. _

He couldn’t tell Fawley everything, or they’d kill him for what he promised to do.

He carefully wrote inside of the notebook, being as neat as he could.

_ Minister Fawley.  _

_ I have something to report. _

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> leave ur thoughts in comment section :¬>


	16. The Stairs

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Happy New Year!  
> I'm posting all the chapters I had written on this initial version of the story, but I will then leave it unfinished.   
> I am completely rewriting it, changing many things about the plot and the style. After I write a significant amount of the new version I will begin posting that separately. I'll list it as part of a series with this story so you can find it easily if you want to.   
> Sorry for this, but what I am currently producing is not in line with my vision.

Tom had been at school for about a week.

Boring, boring, boring. 

English, Arithmetic, running around and throwing balls. That was about the sum of it.

It was interval, and Tom sat in the courtyard, reading a book about dragon care. It was written very strangely, in archaic english, but Tom had grown used to it by halfway through the book. He pondered again the idea of having a dragon. They seemed volatile, but could he bring one under his control, perhaps wholly with magic? How dissimilar were dragons from snakes, could he speak their tongue? Tom thought not, he had tried speaking with lizards before, and they were silent.

‘What are you reading, Tommy?’ Tom felt instant frustration when that buck-toothed redhead approached him. 

‘Don’t call me Tommy.’

‘You’re reading a book about dragons! I love dragons,’ she gushed, ‘when I was younger I wanted to meet a dragon, and live with it with all the gold it has, and use the gold to buy pastries for me and the dragon, and we’d be best friends!’

‘Dragons aren’t real.’ Tom said.

‘Of course I know that now! But they're still fun to think about. You must think so too, you’re reading a book about them. Do you want to play pretend and be dragons?’

‘No.’ Tom said.

‘Oh. Why not?’

‘Because playing pretend is for children.’

‘But you _are_ a child.’ The girl replied, mystified. ‘Come on Tom, we’ll have such fun! We can play something else if you’d prefer, do you want to play families? I can get Elizabeth to join-’

‘I don’t want to play! Stop disturbing me!’ Tom snapped. 

‘You don’t need to be mean about it, Tom.’ She blubbered, strangely and suddenly tearful. She stormed off. 

* * *

After school, Harry was there, as he always was. 3pm sharp, at the gate. He looked different from the other parents. They were aged, portly, flawed. Harry cut a striking figure in his tailored coat, wild hair and broad grin. Viewing him next to the others, Tom wondered for a moment how old Harry actually was. He seemed old, because all adults seemed old, but compared to the others, he must be five or ten years younger. An age where he’d be closer to being an older brother than a father to Tom. Tom tossed the idea of viewing him as older-brother-Harry around in his mind before dismissing it. He wasn’t that, he was something else. 

‘Hullo Harry.’ Tom said.

‘Hey Tom! How was school?’

‘Hay is for horses.’ Tom replied. Harry had the strangest way of saying things, probably from his time in the United States. 

‘Oh you.’ Harry replied fondly. He stuck out his arm, ‘well then, shall we walk?’ 

Tom grabbed onto his wrist. He felt a strange anxiety when he was apart from Harry, one which he couldn’t place. It was a relief to take hold of him. Sometime after they had gotten Quidditch supplies, Tom found himself very attached to the man. He regarded Harry suspiciously. Perhaps it was some sort of compulsion magic?

They left the school, Harry tipped his hat to Miss Quarey, who nearly swooned.

The walking was just a front, after they had strolled along for a few minutes, they ducked behind a building and apparated home. 

‘So really,’ Harry asked, fixing some cheese and crackers, ‘how was your day?’

‘It was fine.’ Tom replied. ‘It was school.’

‘Learn anything?’

 _‘No.’_ Tom replied emphatically. 

‘Make any new friends?’

‘Yes.’ Tom lied, ‘I played a game of pretend with a girl.’ 

‘What’s her name?’ Harry asked.

 _So many questions_.

‘Mary.’ Tom replied. There were about four Mary’s in the school.

‘What game did you play?’

‘Dragons.’

‘Were you the valiant knight who slayed the dragon?’ Harry asked cheerfully.

‘No.’ Tom replied. ‘I _was_ the dragon.’

* * *

Tom had been at school for about a month. It was better than his old school, no one made fun of him for being an orphan, because he wasn’t. No one made fun of him for being a freak, because they didn’t know. 

He was quiet, and he kept to himself, but he wasn’t a freak. 

It was better, certainly. The walls weren’t cracked and the pencils were new and the children spoke with upper class accents that Tom copied with as much precision as he could. 

It happened one day, with an older boy. Andrew Brennan. 

‘Who’s the man that comes and picks you up, Tommy?’

‘My name is Tom.’

‘He’s young, is he your older brother?’ Tom didn’t want to admit he was adopted, that he was an orphan.

‘He’s my father.’ Tom said.

‘He must have been teen-aged when he had you- are you a bastard Tom?’ Andrew asked. 

Tom glared at Andrew, who held up his arms, ‘I’m sorry, it appears I’ve hit a sore spot. I didn’t know you were born out of wedlock. Is your mother still around, or did she run off somewhere?’ he asked.

Before he knew it Andrew was tumbling down the stairs. 

* * *

Andrew had insisted to anyone who heard that Tom had pushed him, but every eye-witness had said the same thing. Tom was two metres or so away from Andrew when he fell. He must have simply tripped. The nurse said he had broken his arm. 

But Tom wasn’t suspected. It felt strange and glorious, to not be the freak that was always suspected even when he couldn’t have done it (even when he did). They didn’t know, couldn’t know he was magic and he could push older boys down stairs and break their arms without touching them. 

And then Harry came. The teacher explained the situation, explained Andrew’s insistence he was pushed and told him not to worry because it was proven Tom didn’t, couldn’t have done it as he was too far to touch him. 

Harry’s eyes flicked over Tom, and Tom tasted the familiar flavour of suspicion. He suspected Tom. Tom whose accidental magic had made a man cough up blood. Harry had told him after that that it was important to try and control his emotions, to not let his magic take ahold of them. Told that he hadn’t been able to control his magic as a child either. Tom imagined Harry as a child- so young, so powerful so… _different_. 

Harry greatly underestimated the control Tom had over his magic.

* * *

Evening came, and Tom slipped into conversation with Buttercup. Harry read the Daily Prophet on the couch.

‘ _He thinksss I did it… that I pusshed that boy.’_ Tom remarked, _‘I can tell he doesss, he can’t hide it.’_

This irked Tom. Didn’t Harry trust him?

 _‘But did you do it? Did you pussh that human boy?’_ Buttercup asked.

_‘Yesss, of coursse I did. He inssulted me.’_

Harry made a small sound. 

‘Harry?’ Tom asked in English, ‘are you alright?’ 

‘Ah. It was just very, er, surprising the scores of these matches.’ Harry said, ‘Yes, I thought the Harpies would have performed better.’ 

‘Right.’ Tom said. 

Tom acted as though he had instantly lost interest, but inside he was screaming. Did Tom accidentally speak in English? No, of course not. 

Tom soothed himself, but tendrils of suspicion knotted in his gut.

Harry speaking parseltongue. It was ludicrous, but something in it seemed…

Something in it seemed _right_.

* * *

_No, no, no, no, no._

Harry thought Tom was better, that he was getting better and understanding more. That he was learning empathy. Accidental magic hadn’t pushed that boy. It had been deliberate. Harry dully realised that all he had taught Tom was how to deceive him.

_You’re a fool, Harry Potter._


	17. Dumbledore

The letter smelled like lilac.

Harry tore it open.

_There are matters which we need to discuss._

_Grasp this portkey when the clock strikes twelve._

_Sincerely,_

_Albus Percival Wulfric Brian Dumbledore._

A marble rolled out of the envelope, onto the floor. Harry took a rag and used it to pick it up. Containing a portus charm in such a small object was a way for Dumbledore to demonstrate his magical abilities. Harry would bet anything that he had found out about Grindelwald. Merlin, he’d just have to explain everything and be honest. He carefully placed the marble in a small box on top of a cabinet. He certainly couldn't have Tom getting his hands on it. The owl- probably a school one, was about to fly off. Harry supposed a phoenix would have made it clear to any passer-by whom the letter was from.

‘Stay, I’ve got something for you.’

The “something” was some leftover cooked chicken, which the owl nibbled on happily. Harry carefully extended his hand to pet it, and it regarded him for a moment, before allowing it. Harry smiled when he petted the bird’s soft head. After it had finished the chicken it squawked for more, but Harry just shrugged. He didn’t want to fatten the owl, it was already fed at Hogwarts. It flew off in a huff.

‘Must you bond with everything you come across?’ Tom drawled, lazily strung over the couch. He and Solaris had run around playing all afternoon and the boy was tuckered out.

‘Isn’t that what happened with you?’ Harry retorted.

Tom scowled.

‘M’not an owl.’ He muttered, opening a new book.

‘Could have fooled me with your nocturnal habits.’ Harry nagged, ‘you can’t stay up reading every night, what if you fall asleep in school?’ 

‘I’ll keep a better eye on the time, promise.’ Tom replied. 

* * *

Harry shooed Tom to bed at eleven, and tried his best to relax before it was time for his meeting with Dumbledore. He fretfully read through a book about toad varieties.

_Why do we even have this?_

The clock struck twelve, and Harry picked the little marble from the box. He was sucked away, and appeared in an office, crumpled on his knees. He quickly stood. 

‘Not very good with portkeys, I see.’ Dumbledore commented.

‘Not very good at the floo either.’ Harry admitted, ‘or any instantaneous travel. Turns my stomach, I’ll admit.’ He carefully placed the marble onto Dumbledore’s desk.

‘It’s good to see you again. I felt a need to check up on things, considering your particular position. I also wanted to- speak with you, about some unsettling rumours I’ve heard.’ 

Harry’s heart dropped to his gut. 

‘Yeah. I promise, it isn’t at all what you think.’

* * *

‘So basically, both Fawley and Grindelwald have me spying on the other, and to be completely honest, I certainly don’t trust Grindelwald, obviously, but I don't much trust the Ministry either? I’m a little stuck between a rock and a hard place here.’

‘Evidently.’ said Dumbledore.

‘I’d really appreciate it if you could give me some advice regarding this.’ Harry said.

‘My first piece of advice is useless.’ Dumbledore began, ‘it would have been to not meet with me, as Grindelwald will find that out, somehow, and think it incredibly suspicious. However, if you hadn’t, I would have been incredibly suspicious of you and your loyalties.’

‘I can’t betray him, we made a vow. In it he said nothing about meeting with you.’ Harry said. Dumbledore sighed. 

‘Although the conditions of the vow stipulate he cannot kill you, believe me, he will find a way to end you. There are fates other than death, young man.’ 

Harry’s throat clenched. 

‘I know.’ He said. He thought of Azkaban, of Nurmengard, of the long term residents of St Mungos, obliviated out of function. ‘Professor-’

‘Call me Albus. We’re on equal footing now, Harry.’ 

‘I- Albus, you’re the only one who can defeat Grindelwald. Please, you have to.’

Dumbledore ruminated for a long moment. He closed his eyes. When he spoke, there was only shame.

‘You’re right, of course.’ He said. ‘ But I am, first and foremost, a coward.’

‘No you aren’t!’ Harry protested, ‘you- you’re one of the bravest men I’ve ever known.’

‘Not yet.’ Dumbledore replied gravely. ‘Not yet. You think far too highly of me for the things I have not yet done. Everything in my life I have done so far has been…’ Dumbledore inhaled sharply and hid his face in his hands. ‘I don’t deserve your regard, Harry Evans. You are a far greater man than I.’

‘No…’ Harry said, and he remembered Dumbledore, old and grey.

_I was selfish, Harry, more selfish than you, who are a remarkably selfless person, could possibly imagine_.

‘No, that can’t be… You’re powerful enough. You can _defeat_ him.’ Harry wished he could say kill, a dead Grindelwald would solve all his problems, but he knew it was not in Dumbledore’s nature. 

‘It is not the outcome of our battle I fear, Harry. I fear stupid things, selfish things. When I confront Grindelwald I must confront myself. It’s something I should do- my responsibility, and yet, and yet I cannot _bring myself-’_

‘You didn’t kill Ariana.’ Harry blurted. 

Albus- not Dumbledore, this man was distinct from Dumbledore, froze, open mouthed. 

The clock ticked.

Albus trembled.

Tick.

Albus closed his eyes.

Tick.

‘Please.’ He croaked, ‘please go.’

Harry felt a great, crushing disappointment. He looked at Albus and his heart felt tight and ugly. 

He picked the marble back off of the desk.

* * *

Harry reappeared in the living room and he wanted to cry. 

He couldn’t wait for 1945 for Dumbledore to get his act together and defeat Grindelwald. He couldn’t.

Again? It’s Harry Potter’s responsibility, again?

‘FUCK!’ He shouted suddenly, ‘FUCK, FUCK, FU-’

‘Harry?’ said Tom, creeping out his bedroom door in his nightclothes, ‘Harry what’s-’

Harry walked over to Tom and hugged him tightly. The boy stiffened, confused.

‘Sorry for waking you.’ He mumbled, ‘I shouldn’t have shouted, I’m so stupid, Tom.’ Tom unsurely patted Harry’s back.

‘What’s wrong?’ He asked again. ‘Please, Harry, tell me what’s wrong.’

‘So many things, Tom. I’m sorry, so many things.’ 

‘Harry?’ Tom said. Harry released Tom. Something was clawing at his throat. He buzzed with restless energy. 

‘Let’s go back to sleep.’ Harry suggested. 

‘No! You have to tell me- you never tell me anything, Harry!’

‘Tom.’ Harry pleaded.

 _‘Tell me.’_ Tom said, training his eyes on Harry. Harry’s throat dried. The compulsion in Tom’s words was thicker and darker than the Imperius Curse, but so different.

‘Dum-Dumble,’ Harry jolted, breath jagged, ‘d-dore, he won’t... won’t-’ Harry tried to slash through the curse but it was like a sword through fog. ‘Grindelwald.’ Harry said between gritted teeth, the words forcing themselves to form with an unwilling tongue. He pushed harder. ‘Grindel-’ and then Harry broke the surface. He was shaking, the compulsion shattered. 

‘Harry?’ Tom asked unsurely, eyes wide.

Harry looked at Tom and he was so tight and stressed and horrified that he didn't know what to say.

‘How dare you.’ He settled on, ‘you can’t- that _isn’t_ _okay Tom.’_

‘I just wanted to know!’ Tom said, frustrated, ‘I _needed to know-’_

Harry shook his head rapidly. 

‘No, no, no, no.’ he muttered, ‘I’ve done so badly raising you. _Merlin_ , I can’t do _anything_ right.’ Harry trained his eyes on Tom. The words left him in a rush. ‘You pushed that boy down the stairs on purpose, didn’t you?’ 

_Stop it, stop it you’re making things worse. You’re fucking everything up, even more._

Tom’s face was contorted in rage and fear.

‘I DIDN’T!’ He shouted, ‘I SWEAR I DIDN’T-’ 

Harry breath was coming out fast, he gulped in short quick bursts of air but it wasn’t enough, _he couldn’t breathe he couldn’t-_

‘Goodnight, Tom.’ He rasped. He went into his room and shut the door behind him.

Tom banged on the door, frenzied.

‘Harry, come out of there- Harry-’ Harry choked on a sob. 

The door clicked open- magic, Tom's magic had-

‘Please.’ He said hollowly, grasping at Harry's wrist, at his shoulder, frantically grabbing at him, face pale and eyes wide.

 _Oh_.

Harry embraced Tom before he knew he was doing it. The boy became limp. 

‘Oh, Tom… oh my dear, sweet Tom.’ Harry murmured. He kissed him gently on the forehead. ‘I’m so sorry. My _darling boy.’_ Tom hugged him fiercely, fisting his hands in Harry’s clothes. 

‘You hate me.’ Tom said. ‘You hate me, don’t you? Because there are things that are wrong with me.’ 

Harry searched his heart. He found disappointment, rage, but he couldn’t find hate in his heart for Tom. 

‘I can’t. I can’t hate you Tom.’ Harry replied. Tom hugged him so tightly he could barely breathe. ‘Let’s go to sleep.’ Harry suggested, weary in every way. ‘Things are brighter in the morning.’

‘I’m not letting you go.’ Tom said. After a moment Harry realised he meant it literally. So he pulled the covers over them, and Tom clung to him as they both fell into sleep


	18. Mikolik

It had been a month since Harry met with Dumbledore, and he and Tom had fallen back into an uneasy sort of normality. A few times since, Tom had climbed into Harry’s bed, when he had nightmares. He tried to do it without waking Harry up, but Harry slept very lightly, these days, and he never could. 

Quidditch practices were good. They grounded Harry when he felt as though the ground would crumble beneath him, there wasn’t any fear the earth would swallow him whole when he flew above it. Tom was getting much better at flying, and he had the makings of a chaser. He was merciless when he pelted the ball into the goal, and young keepers often didn’t defend properly out of fear. 

The junior team had a wide range of ages and abilities, the eldest there was a boy of fourteen, Jon, who captained the team. He was good with the kids, but he was scared of Harry. Harry had never thought himself that intimidating, but he supposed he had scars on his arms and a tendency to yell harshly when playing the game. He always tried to smile kindly at Jon, but the boy would immediately look away, and run off.

Ah well.

Mikolik was a passionate Quidditch gear modifier, and he had tweaked one of their snitches just for Harry’s practices. It was twice as fast as the standard snitch, even slightly above the speed of ones for professional games. Harry was pretty sure that the standard snitch speed had increased with the standard broom speed over the decades, and he found the games of this time interesting, but relatively slow. 

Mikolik had missed practice again. Last time he was here he seemed sick and weak. He had some sort of medical condition he hadn’t disclosed, and he couldn’t play every once and a while. But he was such a passionate and enthusiastic keeper the rest of the time, he really brought morale up. Harry decided he would go visit him, maybe bring him a nice gift. 

He picked a selection of his best vegetables, which had been aided in their growth with a little bit of magic. He collected his nicest looking carrots, the tomatoes he had grown out of a section inside Buttercup’s warm tank, and a big pumpkin. Strolling to their house on the other side of the plain, basket in hand, he felt like a vegan Red Riding Hood. Tom had elected to accompany him, he was angling to invite Solaris on a sleepover. Harry was sure that Aurora wouldn’t mind Solaris being out of the house, with her having to care for her sick husband. Harry knocked briskly on the door.

‘Hullo! We thought we’d come to visit Mikolik!’ Harry hollered.

Aurora opened the door. She was the least composed Harry had ever seen her, hair in a frazzle, face tired and gaunt. 

‘Mikolik is not well enough to see anybody right now, Harry.’ 

‘Oh. Sorry. I brought you some things from my garden, as a sort of, get well, uh, thing.’ Harry said, thrusting forward his basket. She smiled, and took it from him. 

‘That's very kind of you, Harry. But please, you must leave soon.’ she said kindly.

‘Would Solaris like to stay over at ours for the night? Tom wants to han- uh, spend time with him?’ 

Aurora thought for a moment. 

‘Yes. It might be best for Solaris to stay at yours. Mikolik has a tendency to cough in the night when he gets like this. It keeps the whole house awake. I’ll fetch him for you.’ She left briefly and brought back Solaris, already dressed in his pyjamas. She rushed to the window outside and checked something.

‘I have a change of clothes for tomorrow morning for Solaris. He’s tired today, so could you please apparate home rather than walk?’ Aurora asked seriously. 

She was in a strange rush to see him gone. 

‘Okay.’ Harry replied, ‘where would you like these vegetables?’ Aurora quickly dumped the vegetables on the counter and gave Harry his basket back.

‘It’s been lovely seeing you Harry.’ She said, eyes flicking again to the window, the dark outside deepening rapidly. 

‘Okay.’ Harry said slowly, ‘we’ll be going then.’ 

Just as he had grabbed Tom and Solaris and was preparing to disapparate, he heard it. A howl, from under the house, it sounded pained. Many thoughts flicked through Harry’s brain very quickly, and he realised very suddenly that it was the full moon tonight, and that the times that Mikolik had been sick all coincided with the full moon. His brain trampled through a path it had already created once before, for another man. Aurora stilled. Harry listened to the clanking of chains and growling that was coming from, he assumed, a basement. 

‘Werewolf.’ He whispered.

‘Don’t tell anyone.’ Aurora begged, ‘please, he hasn’t done anyone any harm. We chain him up when it happens, he can’t get to anyone.’ Solaris gazed at Harry, his luminescent, mournful eyes filled with more emotion than Harry had ever seen in them. Aurora’s eyes were pleading, her hands had begun to tremble.

‘Of course I won’t tell anyone.’ Harry said, and Aurora deflated. She sat, legs shaking. Awful growling and barking rose from the basement. ‘I had a friend once.’ Harry said, desperately, ‘he had lycanthropy. He was- he was nearly like a father to me-’

Aurora got up and hugged Harry, sobbed into his chest. He let go of Tom and Solaris’ hands, and grasped her firmly. 

‘It’s so hard,’ she whispered harshly, accent thickening, ‘it’s so hard to hide it- and hold him down vhen he becomes a vild beast. It is so _hard_ vhen you love dem and there is _noving you can do.’_

Wolfsbane potion hadn’t yet been invented. He had made some with Hermione, a couple times, in bulk, when she was on her campaign to help the werewolf population. They sent it out to anyone who wrote in with a need, for themselves, for their family, friends. He thought maybe, just maybe he could remember how to do it. 

_Wolfsbane, black quicksilver, giant moonwort, myrrh soaked in spiders blood?_

_Stir clockwise three times, four?_

He could figure it out. 

The howling became louder. 

‘I could stay with him.’ Harry offered, ‘if you want. You could look after the boys.’

She shook her head slowly.

‘Thank you Harry, but he is my husband, and I will stay as many moons as I need to.’ She breathed deeply. ‘You are such a good man, Harry Evans, the best I have known in a while. I worried, I worried about the pigment of your soul, the rips and tears and bruises. I see now that this damage has done nothing to your kindness. I see now that you are _beautiful_.’ and she said it with such reverence, such conviction. 

Harry’s lip trembled, just slightly before he controlled it. 

It was a gasping sort of euphoria to know that she saw deep into him, and he was good enough.

* * *

Mikolik was a werewolf. Tom had read about werewolves, in his books of creatures. 

_Werewolf/Lycanthrope_

_Class XXXXX: Highly dangerous._

Harry didn’t seem to think so. Who was the werewolf he had known? Why didn’t Tom know anything about Harry’s life? 

‘Time to go, Tom.’ Harry said quietly, and clasped his and Solaris’ hands in his large, rough ones once again. Aurora swooped down for a brief moment, breath ghosting Tom’s ear as she made a show of adjusting Solaris’ collar. 

She spoke in a ghost of a whisper.

_‘I see your soul as well.’_

She stood, and they disapparated, Tom and Aurora locked eyes as he fell away.


	19. Penny

Time ticked on. Months passed, and Harry could scarcely believe Tom was almost nine. He was shooting up like bamboo, thin and wiry and young. After putting in a good amount of research, he spent the time Tom was at school trying to create the potion, practicing flying, and reclaiming the general fitness he had let fall by the wayside for so long. An early morning jog was invigorating, and it felt so good to have strength in his limbs. 

The potion was proving tougher than he had expected.

While Tom was at school, Harry went to town to get his ingredients. He managed to get most of the things he needed at the potions shop, however they didn’t have the right variety of spider’s blood in stock today. Carrow spiders, they were. They were found in damp areas, near streams, under rocks. He’d have a look in the woodland area nearby the house. 

He had about an hour before he had to pick Tom up, and decided that bug hunting was an excellent way to spend his time.

It was difficult, finding the spiders. They were wee little things, and solitary too. He needed about ten of them, so it was slow going. He collected five before it was time for him to go. He tramped back to the house, and placed the jarful of spiders on the table. They were alive, it was better to use them fresh. Maybe they’d breed and he wouldn’t have to collect any more.

When Harry arrived at Tom’s school, he was a minute late and very dishevelled. 

‘You have leaves in your hair!’ Tom said, with all the horror of a proper old lady. ‘Why must you go out in such a state?’ 

‘You embarrassed of me?’ Harry asked teasingly.

Tom scowled, but it slipped off his face like he couldn't quite keep it there. He sighed, and smiled with a fondness which was almost condescending.

‘What have you been doing?’

‘I’ve been collecting bugs.’ Harry said, wriggling his fingers menacingly. ‘Creepy crawling bugs.’

Tom pursed his lips.

‘You’re twenty-four.’ he said plainly, like that was all he needed to say.

‘Ah, but,’ Harry leaned closer and whispered lowly, casting an exaggeratedly furtive glance around. ‘They’re for potions.’

‘You’re brewing a potion?’ Tom asked excitedly. ‘Can I help? I know a lot of recipes, I know sleeping potions, pepper-ups-’

‘It’s a little something I'm developing, actually.’ Harry replied, ‘a new recipe.’ 

‘I didn’t know you were talented at potions. Didn’t you say your potions professor hated you and you always blew everything up?’ 

Harry shrugged.

‘The past won’t hold me back!’ He exclaimed. ‘I am a new man and I can brew this!’

‘You’re ridiculous.’ Tom said, lip curling into a smile. 

‘Actually my name is Harry.’ he replied.

Tom groaned.

* * *

Tom was fast asleep, and Harry tumbled through the woods with only a lit wand to guide him. Apparently the spiders came out of their burrows at night to hunt. He’d get a few more- a dozen if he could, to be safe. He managed to scoop a good number into his jar, and decided that that would be enough for another experiment in recreating the potion. 

Then he felt it. A great chill. The chill he felt so often in his teen years, and later, in his patrols, when he was put on Azkaban duty for disobeying the will of his superiors. 

He almost ran, but then he realised that if they’re here, there's a good chance that they’re trying to feed. Someone could have been kissed- someone might be kissed soon.

So Harry ran toward the sensation, ran for a minute and wondered why he could feel the Dementor so deeply from so far away. 

_There was a woman_.

She was backed against a tree, terrified. There were three of them, hideous, gaping mouths opening and closing, tattered robes trailing. 

She moved her wand, speaking and screaming, and only wisps of silver whorled out of it. She crumpled to her knees.

‘ _EXPECTO PATRONUM!_ ’ Harry bellowed, and his stag surged forth, brighter and bolder than the moon, scattering the dementors, they dissipated into nothing, gone to wherever they go when they aren’t here. The woman coughed, clutching her hand over her mouth. 

‘I didn’t think- I didn’t think they’d be here, of all places- Merlin, right in the woods.’

‘Are you alright ma’am?’ Harry asked, extending his arm to help her up. 

She looked at him tearfully. 

‘Thank you so much- without you, I would have been, oh goodness, I’d have been...’

‘Er, that’s alright. Now then, where-abouts do you live? I’ll help you home.’ Harry said.

She clasped his hand and stood shakily. 

‘What is your name?’ 

‘Harry,’ he replied.

‘I’m Penny.’ she said, ‘Penny Parming.’ 

‘It’s lovely to meet you Penny, although I wish it were in better circumstances.’ Harry smiled grimly. ‘Let's get you home, get some chocolate into your system.’ 

‘I’m just down this path.’ She murmured, ‘I only wanted to go for a night stroll.’ 

They walked down the path.

‘Here it is.’ she said, and there it was, a mansion which while right in front of him, Harry hadn’t seen until she had pointed it out. Harry creased his eyebrows. Unplottable.

They went inside.

‘Do you live here alone?’ Harry asked, while bending down to light the fireplace. Penny nibbled on a bit of chocolate, colour returning to her cheeks. In the lit environment of this house, Harry observed, somewhat embarrassedly, that she was really rather pretty. 

‘For the most part, yes.’ she replied. She shooed Harry out of the way and lit the fire with magic. 

‘Right. Of course.’ Harry said.

‘I saw your patronus- you’re a very powerful wizard, why try light the fire with matches?’ She asked.

Harry shrugged.

‘Force of habit. Some things never leave you.’ Harry didn’t like being in this stranger's house. He had fulfilled his saviour complex and he wanted to leave now, thank you. She picked up an old newspaper to feed to the fire, and stilled. 

‘Is this you?’ she asked, pointing at the newspaper. Harry had actually never had a chance to read the article about the mysterious dueling champion, he hadn’t yet been subscribed to the prophet when it had been released. The picture was a quick shot of him walking out of the building, and looking back briefly. 

‘Yeah.’ he replied simply. ‘Anyway, now that I’m assured of your safety, I really must be going, it’s very late.’ 

‘Hopefully I’ll run into you again.’ she said, ‘in better circumstances, of course.’

* * *

When Harry arrived home, Tom was waiting outside the door. He realised briefly that he had dropped his jar of spiders somewhere along the way. 

‘Where were you?’ Tom demanded, fists tight. ‘I woke up and you were gone!’

‘I was collecting bugs.’ Harry said weakly.

Tom looked at Harry’s empty hands and snarled.

‘No you weren’t.’

‘I wasn’t very successful- I ran into a little trouble out in the woods, but everything is fine now.’ 

‘What kind of trouble?’ Tom’s eyes widened, ‘was- was Mikolik-’

‘Of course not Tom, it’s a waning crescent tonight.’ Harry chided. ‘There was a creature attacking a woman, and I had to step in. That’s all. I wasn’t in danger, I’m very used to these situations.’

‘I don’t want you to be used to danger, I want you to be safe!’ Tom said petulantly, ‘I want you to be at home and safe and not worry where you are!’

‘I’ll make sure to tell you next time I go out. I’m sorry, I didn’t think you’d wake up.’

‘I woke up because…’ Tom was silent, ‘I woke up because I knew you were in danger and I _don’t know how.’_

Harry froze.

‘Magic works in mysterious ways.’ he said. ‘Let’s go back inside, we’d best get a few hours of sleep before Quidditch practice in the morning.’ 

Harry lay on his back and didn’t sleep. He traced his scar and ruminated.

‘Mysterious ways’, indeed.


	20. Publicity (1)

Harry scrabbled around the messy table for his money pouch- 

‘Stop- stop, I’ll give it to you- just _stop pecking me.’_ The owl, which had delivered the newspaper, regarded him with doleful eyes and mechanically pecked at him. It clearly didn’t have a passion for its work. ‘Gringotts should hire you lot as debt collectors.’ he muttered, clutching his red arm. He swept away a pile of mess, he had been researching madly for any theory around curing lycanthropy, to see if the original creator of the Wolfsbane potion had built his ideas off of something Harry could use too. So far he’d found a few theories about the use of wolfsbane to repress symptoms of werewolfism, but there wasn’t any useful information for potion making specifically. ‘AHA!’ Harry exclaimed, grabbing his pouch. He pulled out two knuts and brandished them to the beast. ‘There. Are you happy? I don’t know why Muggles think you’re wise, you’re as dumb as a log.’

Tom sleepily entered the room.

‘Are you verbally abusing the owls again?’

‘I’m sorry. Did I wake you?’ 

‘By shouting loudly in our three room house? Yes.’

Tom’s eyes caught onto the newspaper Harry was holding, ‘but nevermind that- you might want to look at the front page.’ he said, quirking his lip. 

‘Huh?’ Harry replied stupidly, and lo and behold-

_HARRY EVANS, MYSTERIOUS WINNER OF DUELING CHAMPIONSHIP SAVES PENNY PARMING, BRITAIN'S MOST BELOVED SINGER, FROM DEADLY DEMENTOR ATTACK!_

‘Oh Merlin.’ Harry said, and began to read.

_Miss Parming wrote to me a few days ago, to tell me of her most terrifying experience. She had gone for a nighttime stroll in the woods near her house, when a pack of Dementors came upon her. What were these fiends doing outside of Azkaban? Clearly there has been an unacceptable failure in the Department of Magical Creatures containment of the dark entities! For all her musical talent Miss Parming has confided in me that she had never successfully been able to produce a patronus, a problem that plagues many of us. As such, they swarmed around her, and she was nearly kissed before out of nowhere the, ‘strongest and brightest’ patronus charm she had ever seen galloped over to scatter them. She wept with relief! The wizard behind the patronus turned out to be none other than Harry Evans- mysterious and controversial figure, renowned for his skill in dueling and frankly, handsome appearance._

_Read- HARRY EVANS, FIRST-RATE OR FRAUD? (Daily Prophet Issue 1934/350)_

_No one has wanted to disclose any information about Evans- even members of his local Quidditch team (The Otters) told me not to pry into his life._

_‘Harry doesn’t want attention. He just wants to be left alone.’ Stated one such member._

_Is this just friendly protection, or is Evans hiding something?_

_All I could gather from my investigation is that Evans is apparently an excellent seeker- another skill to add to this enigmatic man’s profile._

_Harry Evans has risen from anonymity to national interest very quickly- perhaps it’s all a publicity stunt, in order for him to start a career! I know for a fact that if I were to see a book about dueling written by this figure, I would certainly be curious enough to buy it._

_Many readers wrote in, and by speaking with certain people in Diagon Alley shops who have served Evans, I have been able to answer your most burning question._

_No, Evans is not married! Though he does have a son, possibly from a previous lover?_

Harry put the paper down, unwilling to read further. 

‘Merlin.’

He sighed. He definitely wasn’t going to speak to Penny again. A famous singer? He supposed that explained her wealth. ‘Get ready for school, Tom, we’ll be leaving in a moment.’ 

‘Let me read the paper first.’ Tom said. Harry supposed it was inevitable the child would read it anyway. He ended up tying Tom’s shoes while he read, to save time. ‘What's a dementor?’ asked Tom. 

‘It’s… a horrible creature.’ Harry replied, ‘not much is understood about them, but they suck all the happiness out of you and then eat your soul.’

‘What?’ Tom said, ‘and they were just- just in the woods?’

‘They aren’t usually. They _usually_ stay in Azkaban.’

‘That's the prison, isn't it?’

‘Yeah. In order to stop them running amok the Ministry moved them there- so they, well so they have people to… feed on. Awful business all of it.’ Harry said, shivering, ‘but from what I’ve gathered, there isn’t any known way to kill them, so I understand why…’

‘It makes sense.’ Tom said. ‘Better to have them feed on criminals than normal people.’ 

Harry tightened the laces.

‘No one deserves what Azkaban is.’ He said.

‘If they eat your soul- do you die?’ Tom asked. 

‘Worse.’ Harry replied. ‘Your body lives but everything else is gone.’

‘Teach me how to do the Patronus Charm.’ Tom said immediately, becoming pale.

‘Not everyone can do it.’ Harry warned, ‘it’s a difficult charm, especially since you’re so young. If you see a Dementor, and you _probably_ _won’t_ , just run. I’ll try and teach you it but it’s hard to say whether or not you can do it yet.’ Harry’s heart sank. It was very likely that Tom would be unable to produce a Patronus. Harry still didn’t know if the boy felt love- if Dumbledore was right about the love potions effects on Merope’s child. And what happy memories did Tom have- going to the bookshop? Would it be strong enough?

Harry thought again of the boy Tom pushed down the stairs and simmered with rage, more at himself than at Tom. He hadn’t raised him correctly- he hadn’t been able to change him, not yet. 

Objectively Harry knew that it was okay, really, if Tom was a little bit of a psychopath, as long as he wasn’t as bad as he had been last time. Hell, Harry would take serial killer Tom Riddle that didn’t make any horcruxes over the last one any day. It still hurt though, to think-

_Whatever, calm down, he just pushed a boy down the stairs. Who knows what the boy did to provoke him._

Maybe he tried to make the whole thing sound more deliberate than it was to impress Buttercup, and it was just another instance of accidental magic.

That was the most optimistic interpretation, anyway.

Harry dropped Tom off at school and secluded himself to the shed out back. He had made it into a makeshift potion room. The equipment he had gotten was expensive, and Harry was very aware that his funds from the Dueling Championship were running low. They had lasted a good while, but there had been a lot of things Harry needed to buy, having previously owned nothing. The Ministry said they would compensate him for his work, but they hadn’t asked him to do particularly much yet. Sure, Fawley had called his fireplace every once in a while, asking for updates, but Grindelwald hadn’t asked him to do anything yet. The only bit of information Harry had been able to share was that Grindelwald’s plans for Britain wouldn’t be enacted for a few years, that much had been shared with him. Harry thought that Grindelwald was planning to take advantage of their vow then.

Point was, basically no money flow from there.

Harry would have to get a job.

He distastefully picked up the newspaper again, skipping past the Dementor article into the _help_ _wanted_ section. 

_Magical Plumber_ \- no.

 _General Labourers_ \- maybe.

 _DADA Tutor-_ Perfect.


	21. Publicity (2)

A DADA Tutor?

That was _definitely_ something Harry knew how to do. He sent a letter of application to the address listed right away, and they got back to him weirdly quickly.

They seemed to think that it wasn’t actually him who had sent the letter, that it was a prank of some sort, and asked him to please show himself at their address to prove it was really him. Harry shrugged, and took the floo to the village where they lived. He stumbled out of the public floo, choking on grit. It was quaint, little shops and houses and dirt road streets. 

‘Scourgify.’ He said, vanishing the soot covering his coat. He wandered around, looking for the house. ‘Excuse me ma’am,’ Harry asked a woman hanging out her washing, ‘could you point me to Cherry Ave?’ 

‘Certainly, it’s only a few streets that way, impossible to miss.’ She replied. 

‘Thank you.’ 

Soon enough he was at 15 Cherry Ave. It was a charming house, made from brick and magic. He knocked precisely on the door, twice. 

A man opened it, and gasped in shock. 

‘Oh my- it really was you! And you’re wearing the coat, excellent!’

‘Ah. Yes.’ Harry said, beginning to regret his decision to take this job.

‘Merlin, Cassidy will be so pleased! She’s a big fan of you, actually, which is the reason she’s trying to get a head start on Defence before she goes to Hogwarts.’

‘A fan… of me? Pardon, but I'm hardly famous.’ Sure- he had some media coverage, but a man who had only entered one dueling championship wasn’t that interesting. 

‘Well, you won’t have remembered seeing us, but we actually went to watch the dueling championships, as a family. Cassidy has a, ah, predilection for dueling, it’s her favourite sport to watch, which is strange for a young lady, but… I digress, Cassidy was amazed at you, she became, ah, semi-obsessed. Actually, my wife crocheted a doll, but, er, nevermind all that, come on in!’

Harry walked in cautiously. 

‘With all that in mind, are you sure I’m the best fit for the role?’ Harry asked. 

‘I cannot imagine anyone better. In fact- is the offer enough? We’d be willing to pay you more-’

‘No no,’ Harry replied, ‘the pay is enough.’ 

The man led him through the hall, chattering all the way. He reminded Harry of Mikolik, except he was more annoying. 

‘The name’s Matthew, but you can call me Matt, my wife, Penelope, is out right now- Cassidy! There’s a guest here for you!’ They entered a living room, and a little girl with mousy brown hair looked up from her drawing. 

She yelped. 

‘HARRY EVANS?’ she screamed.

‘Yeah.’ Harry replied. He hadn’t got this kind of reaction even when he was Harry Potter, it was ridiculous.

‘WHAT ARE YOU DOING IN MY HOUSE?’

‘Er. There was a job offering… a tutoring position?’

The girl shut down, eyes popping out of her skull. 

‘What.’ she whispered. 

‘Yeah. I’ve tutored Defence before, ah, in a way, so I thought this would be a good job for me. I’m a bit tight on funds at the moment.’ 

‘I’m dreaming.’ she murmured. 

Realising he wasn’t going to get anywhere with Cassidy, he turned back to Matthew. 

‘So, what days and hours are convenient for me to come in? Does Cassidy attend primary school?’

‘No, my wife has taught her all the basics herself.’

‘Well then, I could come in during school hours, I could get here anywhere from nine and leave at the _latest_ , about ten-to-three to pick up my son from school.’

‘How about you come on Tuesdays and Thursdays, from noon until ten-to-three. She can have her usual lessons earlier in the day then.’

‘Sounds good to me.’ Harry said, quickly calculating his income. It would be supplemental, but perhaps he needed to take on a few more tutoring jobs. He smiled. He had really enjoyed teaching Dumbledore’s Army, it would be great to do something like that again. 

‘Okay Cassidy, I know you, uh, seem to admire me, in some capacity. But I swear I'm a completely normal person, just like everyone else. I’m going to be your DADA tutor for a little while, so it’s important you know there's nothing really special about me, and you should just treat me like anyone else.’ Harry explained, smiling tightly.

‘Can you sign my notebook?’ Cassidy replied.

‘Er.’

* * *

Harry arrived at the school gate.

‘Hullo Tom!’

Tom shrugged his backpack onto his shoulders, and leveled his gaze at Harry.

‘You seem happy. Have you made progress with your potion?’ Tom asked.

‘Hey now, don’t mention such matters with muggles around.’ Harry warned.

‘They won’t think anything of it. People are stupider than you give them credit for.’

‘Well, well, well, I didn’t expect to be immediately met with a dose of cynicism today. Are you doing alright, Tom?’

‘I’m doing just fine, I’m just…’ He stepped closer to Harry and grabbed his wrist. All the tension seemed to leave his small frame. ‘I missed you.’ he admitted quietly.

‘Let’s get home then- you can help me with my potion if you’d like.’

Tom genuinely beamed, and he looked exactly as a nine year old boy should. Harry felt his throat close up when he thought of the child he adopted, the cold boy with ice in his voice. 

_Tom isn’t perfect, Merlin knows that, but he’s warm and he’s whole._

* * *

The potion exploded, Harry barely managed to wrap a shield around it in time. The liquid dripped from the shield back into the cauldron. Harry had no ideas of the effects a failed Wolfsbane potion would have if it came into contact with skin. They were wearing protective gloves, of course, but their faces were exposed. 

_Are there dragonhide masks? Could you even breathe through those?_

‘Whew. That could have gone badly.’ Harry remarked, ‘maybe you shouldn’t help me with potions.’

‘No, I want to learn so I can be prepared for Hogwarts.’

‘Well you aren’t learning any potions. I’ve tried to make this dozens of times and it isn’t turning out correctly.’ The latest batch was a viscous mess of black goop. Harry knew that the potion was supposed to be clear, and exude a faint blue smoke. Harry sighed, ‘too many carrow spiders, maybe?’

‘Why won’t you tell me what you’re trying to make?’ said Tom petulantly.

‘It’s a secret.’

‘That isn’t an explanation! Why do you always keep things from me?’ Tom demanded.

‘I _don’t_ always keep things from you.’ Harry protested.

‘Whatever.’ he mumbled. Harry’s slang had been rubbing off on Tom over the years. 

‘I’ll tell you if you promise you won’t tell anyone else- especially Solaris.’

‘Yes, yes, just tell me.’ Tom replied excitedly. ‘Is it a poison? A morphing potion?’

‘I mean- no. It’s a potion that helps people with lycanthropy. Makes the transition easier.’

‘Oh. So it’s for Mikolik.’ Tom said.

‘Yeah, and the rest of the werewolves, once I figure it out and release the recipe.’ 

‘That’s amazing!’ Tom exclaimed. Tom grinned broadly, and Harry’s heart seized. He felt warm to see Tom so excited about helping people. He grinned back. ‘You’re going to make so much money off of this.’ Tom said.

_Right. Of course._

‘Okay, one last attempt and then we pack up for the night, and you can do your homework.’ Harry said dully.

‘I already did it.’ Tom grumbled.

Harry blinked. They had immediately gone to the brewing shack after school.

‘When?’ He asked incredulously.

‘At school.’ Tom said slowly, like he was talking to a dimwit.

Harry arched his brows.

‘Very studious.’ He commented. 

‘Let’s just get back to the potion- you want it to emit smoke, right?’

‘I don’t like your tone, young man.’ Harry said gravely, but he couldn’t help but release a small laugh, completely destroying his authority. 

‘Potions that emit smoke, in most cases are stirred more times counterclockwise than clockwise.’ Tom explained.

‘You know potion theory?’ Harry said.

‘ _As should you, seeing as you’re trying to develop one.’_ Tom replied exasperatedly. 

‘Well, actually, I don’t have much talent with potions.’ Harry admitted.

‘I’ve noticed.’ Tom commented drily.

‘Stop disrespecting your elders. I’m actually trying to recreate this potion from memory. The recipe was never released, and the person who made it is... dead.’ Harry said. 

‘Who made it?’ Tom asked. Okay, so in the lie he had just then constructed the creator of the potion was someone close to him.

Harry thought of Hermione, the one whom he had made this potion with. Whenever he tried to recreate it his mind filled with memories of her, she was entangled with it like weft to warp.

‘She was someone very special.’ he said at last.

‘Was it your girlfriend?’ Tom asked with interest.

Harry chuckled. As if.

‘Nah. But she was one of my closest friends.’

‘Have you ever had a girlfriend?’ Tom asked nonchalantly.

‘Of course I have! I’m a grown man- what, looking for some advice with the ladies?’ Harry asked, wiggling his eyebrows. ‘I’m sure the girls at your school are fawning all over you, what, they _must_ be with all the time you take to comb your hair.’

Tom flushed. Harry continued teasingly, ‘I’m sure the half hour you spend in front of the mirror each morning _must_ pay off!’

‘Hush!’ Tom snapped, cheeks pale pink. ‘Just- just because I _care_ about not looking like I _walked in from the street.’_ He retorted. Harry grinned from ear to ear.

‘Oh Tom, you’re such a proper little gentleman. I’m only teasing, only teasing.’

‘Well, you would do very well to stop it.’ Tom replied stiffly. Harry ruffled his carefully combed hair and Tom made an offended yelp, grabbing the strands and smoothing them back onto his head. He shook his head exasperatedly. Harry summoned a fresh cauldron.

‘So, let's do counterclockwise thirteen times for this one?’


	22. Jon

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> TW for homophobia

Tom was beginning to enjoy Quidditch.

He had certainly _pretended_ to, up until now. But as he spiked the quaffle right into Jon’s smarmy little face he finally felt like he was getting into the game.

‘FOUL! FOUL! NO FACE SHOTS!’ Shouted Mr. Lovegood.

‘Many apologies!’ Tom yelled back, ‘I didn’t mean to!’

‘YES YOU DID YOU _BLOODY LITTLE TOERAG!’_ Shrieked Jon, clutching his battered cheek.

‘NO SWEARING!’ Shouted Mr. Lovegood. If only he knew how much Harry said “bloody”. And worse. Harry was such an odd man. Upper class accent, some combination of lower class vernacular, (and vulgarity) as well as turns of phrase which he could only assume were American in origin. He was tight lipped about his past though, only told Tom he had done a lot of travelling. 

Tom thought that Jon was probably a homosexual, and fancied Harry. No one else seemed to notice, but Tom had worked very hard for a very long time to always observe people's feelings. It was best to have as much information at his disposal as possible. Jon used to be nervous and would run away from Harry, blushing, but he had gained confidence recently, and was approaching him, even beginning casual touches. Idiot. Harry wasn’t going to pay attention to some teen-aged boy. Based on the appreciative glances Harry sometimes gave women on the street, he was a perfectly healthy male. 

‘Tom! Be more careful with the ball next time! You’re trying to get it in the hoop, not the keepers face!’ Harry yelled from the ground. 

‘Sorry!’ Tom exclaimed sweetly. 

Tom thought back to when he had asked Harry about his opinion on homosexuality, a few days after he had met Jon and come to his conclusions.

* * *

Harry spluttered, spilling a little tea onto his lap.

‘Where did you learn about that?’ He asked.

Tom shrugged.

‘School. Other children.’

‘Well.’ Harry had said, ‘It doesn’t bother me, personally. Not my cup of-’ he looked at the spill on his lap disparagingly. ‘ _Tea_ , but I haven’t got an issue with it.’ He observed Tom over the rim of the cup. ‘Er, why are you asking? Are you feeling a certain way for a, ah, boy at school? Because it’s _perfectly fine_ with me if you are but you might want to keep that one _quiet_.’

‘No! Of course not.’ Tom said, drawing his eyebrows together. ‘ _I’m_ not a homosexual.’

‘Right.’ Harry had mumbled, ‘of course not. That would be ridiculous.’

* * *

‘Come over here Jon, I know a few basic healing spells.’ Harry said, as Jon settled to the ground.

Jon perked up palpably, and wandered over. Harry surveyed the damage. He whistled. ‘You’re merciless, Tom.’ 

‘Very sorry Jon. My mistake.’ Tom said. Jon tried to scowl at him, but it seemed his cheek bothered him too much for him to contort his mouth. He settled on glaring. 

Harry waved his wand, saying a few different incantations. 

‘There, the pain should be gone, and it will heal within the hour.’ 

‘Famk you.’ Jon mumbled. Harry patted him on the shoulder, and Jon jolted, breath catching. 

_Ridiculous_.

There was no way Harry would look twice at the boy. He wasn’t queer, for one, it was also unlikely he’d go for anyone so young. And even with all that aside, Harry was an accomplished duelist and wizard who had completed secondary school education. Jon hadn’t gone to Hogwarts, he came from a family of magi-carpenters, and was training in that. He was in no capacity good enough for Harry. It was embarrassing on his part to continue his attraction. 

Tom wondered if Harry would find a woman to settle down with.

Harry hadn’t gotten a girlfriend in the time that Tom had known him. Tom couldn’t get too sad about that. He didn’t want anyone in his life thinking that they could try to be his mother. Harry had managed to worm his way into acceptability as a parent figure, but one person was all Tom could deal with.

A mother. Tom scowled. He suddenly had an intensely disturbing and vivid image of Jon in a floral dress, cooking in their home and then running over to give Harry a peck on the lips.

‘Tom? Are you okay?’ Harry asked. Tom’s face had contorted into disgust, and he quickly schooled his expression.

‘Just thought about something repulsive.’ He said, scowling.

* * *

‘Harry?’ Jon said, coming up to him after the Quidditch practice had ended. ‘Can I ask you a question?’

Harry smiled. He was pleased Jon had recently gotten over his fear of him, and was now comfortable talking to him. 

‘Ask away.’

‘Well, er, I was wondering if you could teach me, er, one on one. Some Quidditch, things.’ Harry thought from the corner of his eye he saw Tom grimace for a moment, but when he looked over the boy was pleasantly neutral. 

_Trick of the light._

‘I’ve never played keeper.’ Harry said, ‘you should ask Brian-’

‘I, ah,’ Jon paused for a moment, then lit up, ‘want to learn how to play seeker! Yes, I was wondering if you’d teach me how to track the snitch? But ah, at the normal practices I have to play keeper, of course, so I was wondering if you had any free time to practice seeking with me- since you’re so good! Mikolik says you’re better than the national team’s seeker!’

‘Oh? I’m not entirely sure that last bit is true.’ Harry chuckled, ‘Well I do have a bit of free time, when Tom is at school. Do you go to school?’

‘No! So can we practice in those times?’ Jon asked.

‘Yes, how about I meet you here at nine-thirty on Wednesday-’

‘No.’ Tom interrupted.

_Huh?_

‘Huh?’ Harry said, ‘what do you mean no?’

‘Yeah, Tom, it’s not like it matters for you.’ Said Jon, ‘you’ll be at school anyway.’ 

‘Actually Harry, I want to learn how to play seeker as well.’ Tom said, ‘so can I join these practices and you teach the both of us? Of course, they’ll have to be after school in that case.’ 

‘Oh. Yes, that should be fine but- you know you can’t both be the seeker?’ Harry said.

Tom smiled sweetly.

‘Jon is older than me, and I can be the seeker when he has to leave the children’s team and go to the adult team.’

‘Right. Okay then, Jon, is this alright with you?’

Jon shrank.

‘I was, sort of hoping we could just have one on one coaching… but I guess that it doesn’t matter if there's one other person.’ He mumbled.

‘Lovely.’ Tom said.

‘Well, are you free on Wednesday at three-thirty?’ Harry asked.

‘Yes... I’ll see the both of you there.’ replied Jon.

‘Awesome.’ Harry said.

* * *

Harry left to chat with the adults, and as soon as he was gone, Tom fixed Jon with a glare.

‘Stop with your… _fancying_ Harry.’ He whispered.

Jon choked.

‘I don’t-’

‘Harry isn’t a homosexual, so stop it.’

Jon turned bright red, and began to stutter,

‘Well- well I’m not either, so-’

‘Harry told me that he hates queers.’ Tom hissed, ‘he said it was unnatural and wrong. You don’t have a chance, and if you keep doing this then I’ll tell him about you, and he won’t ever look at you again.’ 

Jon froze and paled. 

‘I-’ he hiccuped, ‘I, I’m not-’ his eyes welled with tears and he stormed off. 

Plans coiled and sprung in Tom’s mind. The seeker training would be an excellent opportunity.


	23. Aurora

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Okay, this is the last chapter I'm posting on this first attempt at the story. In the future you will see me try and write this again, under the same title. Thank you to everyone who has supported me and left me comments.

The practices with Jon were interesting. Neither of them were natural born seekers, in fact neither of them had any desire to be seekers, not that Harry knew that.

Tom tried his very best to be better than Jon, but the boy had years of experience on him. It infuriated Tom, to see his stupid little smug grin whenever he caught the snitch first. 

‘It’s really better to have two of you.’ Harry commented, ‘so you can compete against each other. It took you ten minutes that time, Jon, that’s really good!’ 

Jon beamed with pride. Tom knew it was a fluke, and the snitch was slowed to junior speed anyway. 

The next time they were up in the air, Tom saw his opportunity. He went for the snitch at the same time that Jon did, and was pulling ahead slightly. He then slowed just a touch. As expected, Jon rammed into him, and Tom dramatically fell off of his broom. He stuck his arm out in the least protective way possible, and landed on the ground with a crunch.

Tom shouted out with real pain, and immediately burst into less real tears.

‘TOM! Are you okay?’ Harry yelled, running over to him. 

Tom sobbed,

‘I think I hurt my arm. It really, really hurts Harry!’ Tom said. He wasn’t lying, his arm was most definitely broken. He gazed out of the corner of his eye and it was bent at a strange angle.

‘I’m so sorry! I didn’t mean to bump into you-’ said Jon.

‘You did it on purpose!’ Tom said, ‘you did it because you never liked me!’ 

‘It was an accident, I swear!’ 

‘We can sort that out later.’ Harry said. ‘This is beyond my medical expertise. I’ll numb it with a local spell and take you to Aurora, she can fix this.’ 

* * *

‘You’ve hurt yourself rather badly, haven’t you?’ Aurora said, blinking languidly.

Tom wondered if she meant “hurt yourself” literally. Aurora made him paranoid, (most things made him paranoid) she seemed far too perceptive for Tom’s tastes.

She hummed as she cast spells over him, and he was awash with a glowing white light, tendrils of healing righting what was wrong, shifting things into place. It hurt, and Tom did his best to repress his pained sounds.

She fetched a couple potions from her pantry and gave them to Tom. 

‘What are these for?’ Tom asked.

‘Healing.’ she replied simply.

That was probably as good as an explanation as Tom would get. He drank them, one after the other without pause. They tasted foul.

Harry was talking to Mikolik, in the other room. 

Something picked at Tom’s mind. Something Aurora had said, months ago. 

‘You told me that you saw my soul.’ Tom stated. ‘What did you see?’

Aurora looked at him and smiled.

‘Pain. Darkness. Fear. _Anger_.’ 

Tom felt sick.

‘Is that all I am?’ He asked, throat tight. 

She hesitated. 

‘There’s something wrong with you.’ She said, softly, hurriedly, ‘something broken at your core. Magic wounded you before you even came to be. You’re a half-life, a wasping, reaching, screaming-’

‘Shut your mouth.’ Tom said. ‘Shut up.’ Even though he was the one who had asked.

She trained her huge, soulful eyes onto Tom.

‘But there is more to you than that.’ She said. Tom’s heart swelled with a strange hope. A wanting, a _needing_ to be worthy. ‘You’re entangled, you know.’ She said, applying a salve to Tom’s arm. ‘You and Harry.’

‘How are we entangled?’ Tom asked, his fist clenched on his unbroken arm, nails digging into skin. 

‘At the soul level.’ She replied, ‘I’ve never seen anything quite like it.’ 

Exhilaration poured into Tom.

‘We’re connected, then? Our souls?’ He inquired, a smile fighting it’s way onto his face. 

‘Harry’s soul is bright and warm. It’s mottled, spotted with hurt and rage, damaged, but it’s still, so, so good. Unbelievably so. But…’ she creased her brows, ‘there's a hole in it. I’ve never seen such a hole before. Like something had slotted there- but it was ripped away. I don’t know what kind of dark magic could-’ she paused. 

She looked at Tom, and she _saw_ him. ‘Your soul, _black_ and _burning silver._ It circles him like a gull. And it dives, rests within the cavity, when you two touch.’

_That feeling of wholeness- it was, it was-_

‘I think you’ve left pieces of yourself within Harry.’ She said. ‘Strange business, strange indeed.’

‘But I didn’t control this.’ Tom said, barely holding in his glee, ‘It’s not on purpose, I can’t see souls like you do.’ 

‘I know.’ She said simply, and cast a final spell, over the salve. ‘Your arm is healed, but don’t try and lift anything heavy with it for the next few days. And no Quidditch.’

Tom felt an intense satisfaction. He had marked Harry on the deepest of levels, he had touched his soul. 

‘Thank you Aurora, for telling me all this,’ he said sweetly, gratefully. 

She sighed softly, put her medical supplies to one side. Her voice was tight.

‘Don’t hurt him too much, please.’ She helped Tom sit up. ‘I think he’d finally shatter.’ 

* * *

‘All healed up then, Tom? You had a nasty fall. I’m sure Jon didn’t mean to hit you, so don’t be too angry with him.’ He said. Tom scowled. Harry was missing the point of this entire exercise.

‘He did.’ Tom replied, ‘Didn’t you see? He went right for me.’ 

‘Why would he do that?’

‘Jon is nice to adults, but he’s nasty to younger kids.’ Tom lied, ‘he’s one of those boys.’ 

Harry blinked.

‘Really? I would never have guessed… How things change, Merlin.’ Harry rubbed his scruffy hair and sighed. ‘Sorry that this happened- I should have kept a closer eye on you two, or _something_.’

‘You're not responsible for this.’ Tom said, confused, ‘you know that you aren’t responsible for every bad thing that happens, right?’

Harry laughed hollowly.

‘I suppose not. Let’s go home, you’ve had a bad day, I’ll fix something special for dinner.’

‘Can we have shepherd's pie?’ Tom asked.

‘Of course.’ Harry answered. Tom grabbed Harry’s hand, and they bid farewell to Aurora, who regarded Tom coolly. They walked all the way home, over the plains. The wind was chilled, as winter fell upon them again. Tom felt like walking with Harry, holding his hand and chatting, seeing him grin and laugh, was the best place he could be.

The shepherd’s pie was a little burnt on top, but it was wholesome and filling and hot. Harry ate his, across the table from him. He was eating a little more delicately than he used to, but still quite quickly. He flipped through a book about potions while spooning the food into his mouth. 

Harry’s eyes flicked up to Tom. He swallowed.

‘Why’re you staring at me? Do I have something on my face?’ Harry said, and wiped his mouth with his sleeve. 

‘It’s nothing.’ Tom said, feeling like there was a secret behind his teeth. Souls entangled. His and Harry’s. A deep connection that Aurora had never seen before. 

He daintily spooned the pie, lifting a small bite to his lips. 

Something _nobody else has_. Something _special_.


End file.
